Burbage High
by Charlotte Bird
Summary: 14 Years post war, Hermione has become Head of the progressive, yet failing Burbage High. Handling right wing politics is easy, but working out why Malfoy is insisting his son start there in September is not. 10 years spent in Azkaban and 2 years isolated in the muggle world may have changed Draco, but surely not that much? Is something more sinister going on?
1. A Very Harry Birthday

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything written over the following pages. JK Rowling owns it all.**

**Warnings: Swearing, sexual content, references to homosexuality, references and description of crime and violence, mental health issues, poverty, alcohol and substance abuse.**

**15/03/16 - This story is currently undergoing gradual edits by yours truly, but huge thanks have to go to Delancey654 who is sweeping her way through beta reading. Have a look at her stories, they are excellent!**

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Prologue

_Elephant and Castle, London_

An errant thought, the same one that had been distracting Hermione all week drifted in and took root in her mind. She blinked, attempting to refocus on the paper in her hands, but the fourth year attendance records stood no chance against her imagination. Hermione snapped shut the folder, tossed it on to her desk, leant back in her chair and rubbed her fingers across her eyelids and up into her hairline.

She tried to employ her tried and tested focusing tactic of mentally running through the speech she would soon be giving to Burbage High's new prospective students and their parents. She had spent weeks working on it, finely tuning the words so they walked the tightrope between informative and inspiring, but she found on this occasion the words were ceasing to mean anything at all. She may as well pull a Dumbledore and address them on Monday's open day with a line of gibberish.

But of course no one had ever needed convincing to attend Hogwarts. Burbage High, however, was another matter.

For a moment it had worked, but thinking about Albus Dumbledore led her straight back to _him_. In a way that it hadn't for well over a decade. Hermione finally gave into the compulsion to abandon her work, pushed back her chair and rose from the desk. She walked across the room to replace the attendance file on a shelf and paused at the open door that led into her assistant's office. Hermione's eyes were irresistibly pulled to Laura's desk where another seemingly incongruous file lay. Pre-emptively cursing herself, as she had done countless times that week, she summoned the thin file and flicked through it.

These were the letters from parents that had confirmed their eleven-year-old child's place at the school. There were only a pitiful amount so far. All were Muggle-born or half-bloods and, Hermione assumed, from low income families. Why else would anyone chose the free Burbage High over the fee paying Hogwarts without having even visited the school or met any teachers?

It wasn't like they had a good reputation. Yet.

None of the students were purebloods - except for one. The writing on the cheap, lined Muggle paper was beautifully written in dark green ink, all expressive curves and executed in near-perfect calligraphy.

_Dear Ms. Granger_

_This letter is to confirm that Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy will be attending Burbage High this September the 1st._

_I am also writing to confirm his place on the open day on August the 2nd._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Draco Lucius Malfoy_

It arrived last week, a Trojan horse in the Muggle post. Draco Malfoy, his influence on her life frozen in time along with his image. To Hermione, Malfoy was still slumped in chains in Courtroom Ten, the last time she'd seen him. Lank hair, gaunt face, only looking up to gaze into the shadows at the back of the seats, where his wife and baby sat. Then came Azkaban, release, obscurity, fourteen years had passed and she had long stopped wondering.

But now here he was. The elegant script twining into her life like an ivy around an oak. Poisonous, distracting and leaching her attention from the mission that had been her life for the past seven years she had worked at the school. Like with Hogwarts, letters from Burbage High were sent out to every child in the UK that showed magical potential, but no one ever awaited a reply from a recognisable Wizarding name. Especially one like Malfoy. The letter was so unexpected, such a detour from the way things were meant to be, Hermione could not comprehend how she was meant to feel. The words, disarming in their apparent simplicity, days later and after countless re-readings, still had not lost their effect on the witch. Confusion was a rare and unwelcome feeling in Hermione Granger.

Malfoys and their ilk existed in that old world, where rather than ability, it was down to luck of your birth that decided your place in the hierarchy of Wizarding society. Today, despite changes in laws and fashions, and though outward disdain those with pure-blood gave to those without was more likely to close doors than open them, Hermione had no doubt that the opinions of the most deeply old-fashioned had ever really changed. The pure-blooded, both old and young would continue to regurgitate those opinions, but of course, in the privacy of their manor houses and hundreds of miles away in Scotland, in a certain dungeon common room under a certain Black Lake.

But this letter challenged that and threw everything Hermione took for granted back into her face. Draco Malfoy had confirmed he wanted to send his son to her school. Burbage High, the school that championed the Muggle-born. Where plenty of half-bloods could be found, but where no pure-blooded child had ever walked the halls. Didn't Malfoy understand the status quo? What was he playing at? Hermione's mind leapt desperately between unlikely theories in an attempt to understand. Each possible answer more ridiculous than the last both in substance and for the amount of times she had come back to them.

Malfoy had attempted murder in order to protect his own family, so with these protective impulses, how could he place his own son in a school full of Muggle-borns, to learn Muggle subjects and under the influence of the worst _Mudblood_ of them all, just to commit some horrible deed? None of it made sense. Hermione ran a finger down the page. The paper was smooth and light, mass-produced in a factory. Malfoy writing on Muggle paper? Using Muggle post?

The only explanation she could fathom was that perhaps Malfoy had changed. The thought felt so fanciful she was inclined to dismiss it as being as unlikely as the rest of her ideas. But she simply could not imagine what or how he would stand to gain from his son's admission to the school if Scorpius was attending under false pretences. And Hermione knew Malfoy was not the type to undertake anything unless he directly gained from it in some way.

Hermione shivered, the hairs on her arm inexplicably rising. She suddenly felt very alone, standing in a dark, empty school thinking about Draco Malfoy when she should have already been at Harry's birthday party, having fun in the sunshine with the rest of civilisation. She flipped the file shut, put it back on the desk and went back to gather her things from the Headmistress's office. Or her office, she remembered to call it.

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Chapter One - A Very Harry Birthday

_Hampstead, London_

The sound of an Apparition cracked down the quiet suburban road, startling a couple of pigeons into flight. Hermione emerged from a derelict bus stop and into the warm evening sunlight. She picked her way through the brambles and nettles and on to the pavement, brushed down her dress and ran a few fingers self-consciously through freshly straightened hair, marvelling at how soft it felt.

After a quick glance behind her Hermione began to walk west towards the sun, the trees overhead causing the dappled light to dance and flicker in her eyes. With each step she attempted to forget about work, in particular to forget about that letter.

The Victorian homes on either side were red-bricked and beautiful and she smiled as she came into sight of a few balloons tied to a gate in front of one particularly large house. It was all so inconspicuously Muggle. However, the small boy crouching behind the fence, clutching a wand with both hands and using it to poke at a rather annoyed looking cat, was anything but. So much was his concentration on the spell that he did not even notice the witch coming to stand beside him. His face was screwed up with effort and she could just make out a frantic whispering.

"Mr Potter, are you attempting to perform underage magic?" she intoned and gamely raised an eyebrow as his head shot up, emerald green eyes incriminatingly wide, the picture of guilt. In surprise the child fell back on to one hand but then a large, guileless smile broke across his face. The expression was so warming, so welcoming, that already Hermione felt her connection to this world strengthen as the feelings of isolation and disquiet she had felt only hours before weakened. This was where she was meant to be. Not in dark hallways obsessing over the past.

"Hermione!" Albus Potter exclaimed.

She grinned and held out a hand to help him up as he scrambled to stand. His palm was warm, soft and slightly clammy. Still a child's hand. Had she been this young when she had left home? She still couldn't believe that in a month's time he would be off to Hogwarts. It was absurd how quickly Harry's children had grown up, and how long ago this rite of passage had been for her.

"Come on then Al, I want to hear all about it!" she requested.

In response he held the wand in two upturned palms and gazed down upon it in rapture. Hermione knew what he was thinking, it was written plainly on his face. Suddenly she felt the keen pang of nostalgia, an echo of that nervous, excited anticipation. Of magic, of Hogwarts. She wondered if those few confirmed to Burbage High were having a similar experience. She sorely hoped so.

"It's 10 and a half inches, birch and with a dragon heartstring core. Mum and Dad finally took me today." He raised his eyes solemnly to hers and Hermione had to fight the urge to fling her arms around him as if he were still her little baby godson. This was a grown-up moment, and Al deserved to be treated as such. Instead she nodded, as outwardly serious as he was.

"Do you know, that's the same core as mine," she offered.

"Really!" He was smiling again now, apparently amazed by this information.

"Yes. Although you have to be careful with it. Poor Archie wouldn't appreciate losing his tail, would he?" She softened the reprimand with a smile. Albus glanced over at the cat who had stalked off into a more distant patch of sun.

"James taught me a spell to turn him yellow," he said uncertainly. Hermione frowned and felt the poignant twinge of melancholy even more deeply, reminded of another poor naïve boy once upon a time. Deceitful brothers were two a penny in the Weasley family. Sadly the trait was still alive and well in this generation.

"Well, as much as I'm sure your brother knows what he's doing, why don't you save the magic for Hog-" She was interrupted by a disgustingly wet squelching noise and jumped a little in shock, causing Albus to crack up in maniacal laughter, his spell of unease broken. "What the-?"

Albus, still giggling, pointed up into the tree at a delicate looking pink origami butterfly decoration. "It farts if you stand too close! We got the idea from Uncle George. Me and James have been making them this afternoon!" He pointed to a baby blue paper mâché heart hanging nearby. "That one blows slime bubbles into your hair if you stand underneath it!"

Hermione started to back away from the tree, wary of the impending slime. If George Weasley had been involved she was not risking anything. "Those are beautiful decorations Al, I'm really impressed," she said slowly.

It was quite a good bit of advanced magic, charming an object with a motion-detection spell release. _Of course James can achieve such magic at age 12_, she thought, though she decided to play along with whatever story the children had concocted. "So how does James get away with magic in the holidays?"

"Well, technically I'm not allowed but Dad said that as it's his birthday and so a special occasion, he thought it would be okay." James Potter's voice called out from behind them. He slid through the gate at the side of the house and slowly walked down the garden path towards where Hermione and Albus were standing.

"I mean it's just some prank stuff I managed to remember from school last year," he added with a nonchalant gaze up at her, chin held in an ever so slightly defiant angle. Suddenly he blinked and flashed her a beguiling smile. "Please don't mention it to Mum?"

Hermione, after several years of practice, did her best strict professor impression, raising her eyebrows and looking down on him steadily. "But you know that for an underage wizard like yourself, James Potter, you're breaking the laws set down to protect you from harm? You are not only in serious breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery but also that which governs performing magic in a Muggle area. I'm afraid I'm going to have to notify not just your mother, but the Improper Use of Magic Office at the Ministry itself."

Even James with all his bravado couldn't help but pale slightly at the weight of all those official sounding words. Albus looked completely panicked. "Hermione! Please don't tell anyone! James didn't really make any magic, Dad did all of it really! We just helped make them!" he cried.

"Albus! You moron! You can't just blurt things out at the first threat! You've ruined the plan! Hermione's only bluffing..." James said with a quick glance at her face to reassure himself. "You wanna get involved in the pranks at school, but why should I let you if you act like a scared baby?"

Al appeared to diminish into himself. His serious confidence and the touch of adultness Hermione had witnessed earlier vanished in the face of his older brother's cutting jibes. "James! But you promised! Please," he whined, his voice painfully childlike. He edged further behind Hermione. "Dad said you have to - The Cloak - The Map..."

"Just shut up! You're so annoying! Why do I have to put up with you?!" James snapped.

Hermione floundered, unsure whether it was her place to step in, or let Al defend himself. To her utmost relief she saw Harry approaching around the side of the house. She may interact with children on a daily basis, but she had no idea how to deal with the domestic and ugly rivalry of brothers. Harry, however, looked all too used to it. After a brief smile at Hermione as he walked towards them, he frowned as he took in the scene; James with his arms folded, an unpleasant sneer on his young face, and Albus, almost cowering behind Hermione as he battled tears.

"Whoa guys! What's going on here?" Harry asked. When nobody answered, he continued, "James, I thought I asked you to go and fetch your brother, not make him cry-"

"I am not crying!" Al choked from behind her, sounding very much like he was lying. Hermione lifted a hand to rub his shoulders but he shrugged her off. She let her hand fall, feeling useless.

"No, I'm sorry Al, of course you're not," Harry said, looking pained. He turned to James who looked at the floor. "Apologise to your brother."

James snapped his head up, "For what? I haven't done anything!" he said.

"For -" Harry looked at his youngest son, "Al?" But Albus just shrugged and continued to glare at the floor. Harry sighed and rubbed a hand wearily across his chin as James puffed himself back up.

The sight of him pulling a smirk that reminded Hermione a bit too much of Malfoy caused her to say, "well, James wasn't being very nice to Al -" But with that Albus leapt away from her and began to stalk up the garden path towards the house. Hermione stopped talking and winced at Harry. She mouthed an apology that he shook his head at before turning towards Al's retreating back.

"Al! I came here to tell you some of the other kids have been asking about you!" Harry called out after him. "Why don't you go find them and entertain them for a bit?" The boy faltered and looked back at them, his eyes wide, before running off.

"Did they really?" James asked his father with raised eyebrows once Albus was out of earshot.

"Yes," Harry said, resolutely. "I don't know what you're playing at James, but you treat your brother with a bit more kindness. Otherwise it will be no more sleepovers at Teddy's for the rest of the holiday. Now go catch up and play with your brother and the others."

James rolled his eyes. "I'm twelve, Dad. I don't play." But he sprinted off anyway in his brother's wake.

The two adults followed sedately behind, Harry laying an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "How are you? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages. And where on earth did this tan come from? I got the impression you hadn't left your office all month," he said, squeezing her shoulder.

Hermione grinned round at him, moving her left hand up to meet his at her shoulder and squeezing back. "Well, I may have been doing a bit of work in the garden. Oh god Harry, it's so good to see you. I'm sorry I've been rubbish lately, and I'm sorry I'm late. I'll make it up to you." She rested her head back into his shoulder and felt him hum in sympathy.

"No, no, don't worry. I know how busy you've been. I'm just relieved you've managed to pull yourself away. I've been worried about you."

Hermione laughed off his concern. This conversation was routine. "Harry, You don't need to worry about me. You know I can handle it."

"I know. It doesn't mean I like the idea of you working yourself to the ground in that school alone all summer," he frowned.

"I'm not alone, the other staff have been in." Hermione changed the subject, not wanting to endure another lecture about the importance for 'taking time for herself.' Whatever that meant. "What's up with the boys? I thought they were past all that?"

"I don't know... but they're brothers, they'll work it out," he said, though he sounded troubled.

"And what's with those decorations hanging out in plain view of your Muggle neighbours?" she added in exasperation.

"Come on, you really think I wouldn't have put at least a couple of mild Muggle repellant charms on them? Don't you trust my judgement? You know this place is practically dripping with wards like that. Anyway, if you think the decorations are bad you should see what I've got planned for later..." Harry smirked.

Hermione laughed again, more sincerely this time, feeling her troubles already begin to drop away. "Oh god, it really is so good to see you, I've got a feeling this party is just what I need..." She sighed. "Though I'm not going to drink much. You have no idea how much I've got to get done at work in the next month. Thinking about it is enough to make me feel a bit sick. And you have no idea what else I might be dealing with." She opened her mouth to tell him, feeling a sudden need to share the strange news of the letter, despite promising herself earlier not to bring it up, but Harry spoke before she could begin.

"Hermione, stop it. You are here to celebrate my birthday, which as you know is always the party of the year. No excuses, you have to be present, and you have to fucking enjoy it. Do you remember why, Miss Granger?"

This was another of their routines and so she dutifully said, "yes, Harry, to make up for all the crappy birthdays you had to endure alone, throughout your entire miserable life, I know, I know, its the same every year."

"Excellent! Ten points to Gryffindor," he said, as they rounded the back corner of the house. "Now let's find you a big drink."

Hermione attempted to heed Harry's words and push work and Malfoy to the back of her mind as she allowed herself to be led into the large leafy garden. Trees surrounded the fences on either side, effectively blocking it from view from the neighbouring houses. A mini, bouncy replica of Hogwarts was at the far end of the garden, covered in a collection of Weasley children, all screaming, shouting and seemingly _flying_ rather than bouncing, defying the laws of gravity. There was a large unlit bonfire in the middle of the lawn, and a stage over to the left with a band starting to set up their instruments. "Yes, I have got the Whomping Willows to play, you know how it pains me to use my infamy for the greater good..." Harry sighed.

Hermione snorted. "Yes, you're a true martyr."

They arrived at a table groaning with alcohol set on the patio next to the house. "What shall it be?" he asked. "I've been taking Muggle cocktail classes as a pre-birthday present to myself. Mojito? Cosmo? Sex on the Beach?" Harry deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione snorted again. "Please, Sex on the Beach? Try no sex for god knows how long... I'll have a hot water bottle and an Earl Grey in front of Eastenders thank you."

"Okay, an extra strong Mojito coming right up!" He turned and started pulling together a few different bottles and splashing around the lime and mint.

"Albus seemed really happy. I mean, before James came along. He was telling me all about his wand," Hermione said with a smile, watching Harry measure out a large quantity of rum.

"Oh my god, he can barely contain his excitement. Since he got his letter it's Hogwarts this, Hogwarts that. When we were on the way to Ollivander's earlier, Herm, I seriously thought he might just burst. I'm worried, though." He bit his lip and frowned as he poured in a brown syrup. Hermione, cursed with the eternal guilt of a child of dentists, ran her tongue over her teeth in anticipation of the damage. "He just seems so young! It feels too soon for him to be off to Hogwarts... And I worry that if he's not put in with James then he won't cope. Despite how it looks I know they're still devoted to each other. Deep down..."

"You don't think he's going into Gryffindor?"

"I'm not sure he will. I've got my theories."

"What? Ravenclaw?" Hermione said. Harry shook his head slightly as he picked out a few healthy sprigs of mint from the bunch. "Slytherin?"

Harry nodded. "Of course I keep telling him it doesn't matter to me or James or Gin where he goes but I can tell causing him a lot of anxiety, even if he's bottling it up. He's so desperate to be involved and accepted by his brother, Teddy and his mates. He really does worship them. I just really want him to make some of his own friends too, but he doesn't seem to be able to."

"Harry, he'll be absolutely fine, he's got a wonderful family and I'm sure he'll make friends. Well, if not, he'll have James anyway." Though Hermione was doubting even this after seeing the children's earlier exchange. "If you're that worried about Hogwarts, then at least you know you have another option!" She quipped, trying to sound light-hearted, knowing even Harry would never chose Burbage High over Hogwarts.

He seemed to sense the lack of conviction in her tone. Glancing over at her, he passed her one of the drinks with kind smile that made his eyes crinkle in warmth. "You are going to be an excellent Headmistress, Hermione. If anyone can turn that school around it's you. I'd be proud to send the boys there," he said sincerely.

Hermione felt herself flush slightly at how easily Harry could read her. But it was a comfort as well. He knew her better and more deeply than anyone.

"Let's toast to your esteemed academy of magical excellence! Burbage High! And to you, Headmistress Granger!"

Hermione laughed reluctantly and raised her glass, clinking against Harry's. She took a sip and winced. "Merlin, Harry, what is wrong with you? Do you want me to last past eight? I told you I wasn't going to drink much."

He threw his head back and laughed. "Come on, you're tougher than that." he said while scanning round the garden, eyes lingering on a tall wizard with long hair wearing heavy dragon hide boots. "Ah, I've just spotted Marv, the singer from the band... Gotta dash love, you know, got to be a good host and all that. Speak in a bit! I know you find it hard, but try to behave! We have impressionable young witches and wizards around." He gave her a wink, squeezed her arm, and started across the garden, a slight sashay in his walk.

Hermione watched as Harry gave Marv a quick pinch on the arse before going in for a kiss and a furtive drag on his cigarette, head quickly scanning the garden to make sure the boys were out of sight. She wrinkled her nose. But it was at the smoking rather than the public display of affection.

In the years since Voldemort's death Harry had changed beyond what anyone had expected. He had spectacularly unfulfilled what the public wanted of him; i.e., to remain married to the school sweetheart, raise a large Weasly-ish brood, and forge a promising career in either law enforcement or politics.

Indeed, it was what Harry himself had originally thought he wanted and it was how he had begun, before inevitably coming to the earth-shattering revelation that he only loved Ginny as a friend, and all he needed - and deserved - to do was whatever the hell he wanted. Which, as far the public could see, was not that much. Lack of ambition, disgrace to the name of Potter, waste of space, bad role model. Bad father. Just the tip of the iceberg of comments the press had dealt him and that had temporarily driven him further away from those who loved him as a result.

What Hermione knew, and that most others refused to see, was that these days Harry was fulfilling the humble yet heroic ambition of being a good father and providing a stable and loving home for his children, even if it was in a unconventional way. Hermione didn't know that much about Harry's childhood, as he barely talked about it, but she knew enough that she could understand that providing the opposite for his own children was the most important thing in the world to him. If that was not enough for his critics - those that were disappointed with how he had turned out - it was Harry's attitude that they could go fuck themselves. Hermione wholeheartedly agreed.

The witch took a longer sip on her drink and scanned the rest of the guests. There was a smattering of the usual mixture of old Hogwarts school friends and acquaintances, all dressed casually in dresses, shorts and t-shirts. In fact there were quite a few people who were dressed so well and seemed so comfortable that she was sure that they were Muggles. All were young, mostly good looking, and seemed to gravitate towards Harry.

Hermione wandered around, smiling and greeting people she knew, catching up with those she knew better and started to relax as the alcohol's familiar warmth spread through her body, small talk coming more and more easily. "Yes, I'm great thanks, work's fine thank you, how're the kids?" "No I didn't read that article." "Yes I heard about the Muggle attacks in Slovenia, I know, it is worrying, yes, lovely to see you too."

During a refill back at the drinks table she found herself chatting with an immaculately dressed man in his late twenties. She widened her eyes at his admission that he worked in fashion P.R. "Oh, how do I know Harry? Well, everyone knows him! Met him I think one night at Fabric. You know, the club?" he stated with an unimpressed look at her blank one. "Well anyway, Harry throws the best parties, even though usually I can barely remember any of it!" he laughed breezily. "I mean, the flashbacks I get are all quite strange, but I guess that's to be expected anyway!"

Hermione wasn't sure what he meant by this so kept quiet. His face took on a dreamy look as he gazed over at her best friend. Hermione recognised the telltale swish and flick of Harry's wand and widened her eyes as Marv's drink floated over to pour itself into Harry's awaiting mouth. Hermione cleared her throat, unsure whether she should be outright panicking at the magic Harry was so carelessly performing in front of Muggles. Apparently, this particular Muggle didn't even seem phased. "Oh, what was I saying? Yeah, crazy shit usually happens, but that's just Harry!" She frowned, deciding to file away this blind acceptance of magic for examination later on (once she could corner the host), and laughed along uneasily.

A moment later, Hermione's eyes lit up at the flash of red hair and loud, flirtatious laugh of Ginny Potter. She said goodbye to Mr Fashion P.R. and made her way over, coming up behind her other best friend. Ginny was holding hands and leaning in to talk to her boyfriend, Dominic. An image of Richard from 'Friends' suddenly swam to mind. He was in his early 40s and was channeling the same very grown up look, a complete contrast to most of the people at the party. She stepped round and cleared her throat, suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable at interrupting. But Ginny's resulting warm greeting and embrace were comfortingly reassuring.

The conversation soon predictably turned to the children. Hermione loved her friends to death, but she did sometimes wish they could talk about other things. As with Harry, Ginny's concern lay with Al.

"I just want him to be happy. I mean, maybe he is? You know how Harry is - so protective of them both... I'm hoping that he's just overreacting. Al will be fine," she said, speaking more to herself than Hermione.

Dominic put his hand gently on Ginny's shoulder. "Of course he'll be okay. He just needs toughening up a bit," he said brusquely, glancing around the garden at the smattering of toys and games lying around on the grass. "Of course you've done a fantastic job, darling," he added to Ginny, "but you haven't been the only one bringing them up."

Hermione frowned at this. "Harry is an excellent father, Dominic," she said, feeling a bit defensive for her best friend.

"I'm not saying he isn't! Just that maybe the boys have been allowed to get away with quite a bit here and he does tend to give into their every whim doesn't he?" He raised his hands in mock defence as the two women opened their mouths to argue. "I know, I know, Harry obviously loves them, but maybe this kind of instability isn't healthy in a child's life." He pointedly looked over to where Harry was stretched in the grass with his head on the lap of Marv the singer. Albus was sat chattering away with them, still clutching his wand, causing a smattering of sparks to fly out every time he got to an exciting part of the story and gesticulated.

"Oh, Harry," Ginny said to herself with a sigh. "I told him to make sure he encouraged Albus to try and make and play with some children his own age today. He finds it so hard to make friends..."

"Well more to the point, do you really think it's wise to parade casual relationships in front of your children? What kind of example does that send? Every time the boys come back to yours, Gin, they're talking about a different Tom, Dick or... Henry."

"Dom, we decided that we were not going to have this discussion today. And don't you think that's slightly hypocritical?" Ginny said with a frown and a nervous look around them for anyone who may have heard.

Dominic looked like he wanted to say something else on the subject but Hermione spoke before he could get it in. She liked Ginny's choice in partner but the conclusions that he was drawing from his limited exposure to Harry's lifestyle were starting to grate on her and she had to stop herself from snapping at him. Suddenly all Hermione wanted was to catch up with her friend, alone. There was one trick she could use that was guaranteed to achieve this. The redhead was a massive gossip. "Ginny, you'll never guess what I have to tell you!" she said, looking pointedly at Dominic.

Ginny's eyes widened in understanding. "Dom love, do you think you could go and get me another drink? Get one for Hermione too, thanks," she requested dismissively.

Waiting for him to be out of hearing range, Hermione launched straight in. "What was that about? Is everything alright with you?"

"Yeah, yeah it's fine. He's just so normal that anything a bit unusual alarms him quite a bit. He'll come round." Ginny trailed off as Harry came sauntering over.

"Ginny! My favourite ex-wife! So lovely to see you!" he said, beaming at her.

"Harry, I've been with you all day, for goodness sake!" she said, grinning back.

"Ah yes, of course. And how is your hunk of a man doing?"

"What do you want?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"Nothing! Well I was wondering what time you were thinking of taking the boys back to yours...?"

"Getting bored of the child friendly entertainment already?"

"No! I just need to plan my evening, that's all."

"Hmm, right, well I dunno, maybe around eleven-ish?" Ginny laughed at his dismayed expression. "No, we were thinking around nine. Let them watch some of the band and enjoy the fire. Now Hermione was just about to tell me something before you waltzed over..."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the two expectant faces turned towards her. Her triumph over getting rid of Dominic died as she realised she would now actually have to deliver the promised gossip. Her mind automatically strayed back to Malfoy. She couldn't, could she?

"Well, actually now I'm thinking about it, you know it was be very unprofessional for me to give out this information..." She laughed, the rum already affecting her, as her two friends turned to each other in exaggerated disbelief.

"Please tell us Hermione? I know you'll tell me later anyway. So you may as well just tell us now?" Ginny wheedled.

Hermione sipped her drink and thought about that letter. Its implications didn't seem so sinister and mysterious here in the sunshine in Harry's garden, happily buzzing off the feelings of goodwill and drink. They would know eventually anyway, and even thinking about sharing the secret in this happy setting somehow lessened its gravitas. In fact, why should Malfoy's writing make her feel like it had? She should be able to tell whoever she wanted.

Hermione took a deep breath and leaned in to whisper, feeling reckless. "Fine. Okay. Guess who is signed up to start at Burbage High this September the 1st...?" She paused for dramatic affect. "Scorpius Malfoy!" She took a long sip on her drink and waited for their reactions.

"What the _fuck_?" It was Harry who broke the dumbstruck silence. "Are you _sure_?"

"Of course I'm _sure_. Malfoy accepted the place last week." They both continued to gape so she added, "It was certainly his handwriting, and he _still_ uses Slytherin ink."

"What? Hermione, you remember his -" Harry shook his head, finally lowering his drink from where it had frozen on route to his mouth. "I don't understand, "Malfoy? _Draco_ Malfoy?" He repeated, though they both knew there was only the one left. "And you've kept this quiet all week?"

Hermione shrugged. "Well, I've been trying to work it out myself."

"And? What have you decided? That he's for real?"

"Well yeah," Hermione said. Harry looked at Ginny, his expression pleading for backup in judging Hermione's level of insanity. "Well nothing _else_ makes sense, Harry," Hermione added, irritated. "You remember what he was like. He wouldn't be doing this if he didn't have to."

"But what the hell is he doing sending his kid to your school instead of Hogwarts?"

"Well that's what I don't know."

Harry shook his head and gave a short, dry laugh. "Draco Malfoy. I bet you thought he'd be the last person you'd have to deal with when you accepted the job."

"Yeah. Well I hadn't given him any thought at all. I forgot he had a son Al's age."

"I hadn't. How disappointing. I've been planning their rivalry all summer. Sowing the seeds of inter-house distrust, warning him against befriending anyone with unnaturally pale hair and a pointy face."

"_Harry,_" Ginny said, rolling her eyes. Harry grinned.

"Well, I'm meeting them on Monday, on the open day," Hermione said. "I'll find out then if this is for real - if he's being serious. I can't wait."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "What, to meet Malfoy, or his son?" he said.

But before Hermione could answer, Ginny turned to Harry, her expression incredulous. "Why would she want to meet Malfoy? How can you _joke_ about this? He's dangerous, he was a _Death Eater_." Hermione looked down into her drink, fiddling with the straw, immediately feeling scolded. Molly Weasley came out in her daughter at the most inopportune moments. "Hasn't he been in Azkaban for years?" Ginny went on. "He's probably as insane as his aunt was. Nothing good will come from this. If it's not all some kind of joke anyway. I know you both were on a crusade for his innocence-"

"I never thought he was that," Harry said, but Ginny spoke over him.

"_Harry_, he lived with You-Know-Who-"

"Voldemort," Harry said under his breath, and was as usual, ignored.

"-God knows what kind of Dark Magic he learnt and used. Harry, you weren't _there, _during that year at school. He did things, they all did, to us, to the other students, _children_-"

_"_They were made to, I thought the Carrows forced them-"

"I didn't! Seamus and Neville didn't!" Ginny's voice was becoming shrill and Hermione took a deep drink from her glass. "He'd have turned us in if he found us outside the Room, killed us if he'd had the chance."

"Ginny, you don't _know_ that. In fact, we all know that he _didn't_."

"Oh yes, your big escape from Malfoy Manor. We all know that story, and it worked. You both managed to get his sentence reduced. But do you know what I'd seen him do just days before? To a second year Hufflepuff girl?"

"_Ginny," _Harry said gently, laying a hand on her elbow. She shook her head but didn't say anything. She pursed her lips and looked into the distance beyond Hermione's head. "Malfoy _paid_ for what he did. He went to Azkaban, he turned himself in. How many Death Eaters did that? Especially after sucessfully evading capture for two years. People _do_ change," Harry said. "I mean last time I saw Malfoy was at his trial... He was completely different. He'd had a baby at what, nineteen, twenty?"

"_Honestly_? How can you defend him, Harry?" Ginny snapped. "Anyone can have unprotected sex. It doesn't automatically make them into a good person. Just an idiot."

Harry dropped his hand and took a long drink rather than reply. There was a brutally awkward silence.

"Ginny, he's not defending Malfoy," Hermione finally said, after Ginny refused to look up from her drink. "But he's saying that people might not always be how they seem. And people do change. Of course Malfoy committed those crimes, and maybe ones we're not aware of, but he _did_ pay for them. How can we judge him for maybe wanting a fresh start for his son?"

Speaking those naive hopes out loud seemed to give them strength. With Harry's resultant nod Hermione didn't feel as foolish as she had done when she had wrestled with the idea in solitude.

"You know his wife died?" Ginny said with a low voice. She glanced up at Hermione, who despite wanting to role her eyes at Ginny's hypocrisy, couldn't help but lean in closer. "Astoria, she was in my year at school."

"While he was in Azkaban?" she asked.

"Yeah, when he got out he took custody of the kid off her parents."

Harry snorted and Hermione caught the word, _unbelievable, _muttered under his breath.

Ginny carried on as if she hadn't heard. "I don't know much, but I've got the impression it was a bit messy. After that they disappeared."

Dominic arrived back at that point, Harry slunk away and the topic of the Malfoys was quickly dropped. But Hermione couldn't help but dwell on one point. In all the furore over Draco, she had failed to think about his son. And as she pieced together what Ginny said with what she knew, the picture she started to make of his childhood was not a happy one. _If_ he really was to be a student at her school, then it simply didn't matter what his father had done, or whether or not he had really changed. Making sure Scorpius had the best possible experience was her priority, especially if his life up to that point had been so unstable.

* * *

The rest of the night passed by in a blur of Mojitos, dancing, and laughter. Hermione felt as if a real weight had been lifted from her shoulders with her admission, despite Ginny's reaction, and for the first time that summer found herself having _fun_. Things were good. The letter didn't mean _anything_, she was on track for the new term, her preparations and changes were in motion, she was exactly where she wanted to be. Hermione found herself back with Mr Fashion P.R. at some point and may have even shared a tentative kiss in front of the roaring magical fire that had flared and danced to life a couple of hours hence. They lay back into a large bean bag and watched the flickers of coloured light leap into the night's sky, the tendrils forming the shapes of prancing animals and swooping birds in a beautiful, harmless echo of Fiendfire.

At some point, a hissed conversation taking place behind them stirred Hermione's giddy high. "Don't be ridiculous. We may be broke but send him to _Burbage High_?" Hermione stopped giggling abruptly and dragged her neck away from Fashion's nibbling lips. The answer was murmured too quietly for Hermione to hear, but she thought it must have been a warning as when the man replied his whisper was more controlled. But Hermione was listening now, her body rigid. She waved away Fashion's concern, tilting her ear towards the couple behind. "_What_, I don't care if she's here. She can't hear me. Can you see her?" There was a pause. "I'm sorry, but I'd rather do it myself. You'd run that risk?

"Darling," it was a women, the man's wife presumably. She'd raised her voice though Hermione failed to place it. "Please calm down, it's not too bad there. We just can't _afford_-"

"You know what they say?" He interrupted, "that they're just churning out _Muggles_ that can do a few crap charms." His wife was attempting to quieten him again, but Hermione still caught the last part, hissed with awful derision. "Granger might have plans but they won't last five minutes."

It was enough. Hermione staggered up, wavering on that hysterical line between anger and tears, not daring to look round at who it was, not wanting them to know she had heard. It was the same spiteful argument that she had heard time and time again against the school, though it was the first time her own name had been dragged in.

Hermione wove her way through the couples sprawled around in the grass and began to search for Harry. She found him eventually still dancing away with Marv, but with one look at her crumpled face he took her hand and led her away from the music. "Hey, what's up? Too much excitement for one day?"

She dredged up a weak smile and rubbed her eyes, knowing she was smudging the mascara. They found a lone deckchair in the dark shadows of the trees at the far end of the lawn and sank down on it sideways, their thighs touching. The air was fresh and smelt of cut grass and dew this far from the fire. Hermione breathed in deeply, feeling the cold reach deep in her lungs, leant back and gazed upwards. The night was clear, the moon was a crescent, Jupiter was overhead, the Andromeda Galaxy - there was a click of a box, a rustle of paper, a flare of light, the sound of inhalation. Hermione swung her head back down the moment the smell of burning tobacco hit.

"_Harry_! Please don't smoke in front of me! You know I hate it." Hermione tried to reach for the cigarette, swiping at Harry's face as he leant back, the glowing orange tip just evading her fingers.

He shrugged, inhaling again. "It's a one off. You'll survive."

"_You_ won't." she said. "Besides, it's disgusting."

He tilted his head, blowing smoke into the sky. "It's my birthday. I can do what I want."

"You're _thirty_-two not _twenty_-two."

"Thanks for the reminder."

She snorted. "You ruined my moment."

"Sorry." Hermione could hear his smile. "But it's _my_ birthday."

Hermione hiccuped a little, glaring at the glowing tip of the cigarette as it danced about in the darkness, presumably floating on a route towards Harry's mouth. But after a few moments she realised he couldn't see her, it was too dark, so she gave up on him _and_ her appreciation of nature and twisted round to face the house instead. They watched the distant fire in silence, watched the couples in eachother's arms, their laughs and shouts sounding quiet and far away. The music changed, the chiaroscuro figures began to dance with slow, strange movements as their shadows darted and swooped like marionettes before the flames. It was like observing a ritual.

The sight filled Hermion with a strange melancholy. She'd read up on ritualistic magic years ago, it was classified as Dark, but she personally thought that was a generalisation. Not that she'd ever practice it of course. Or allow herself to get swept away on currents of Wild Magic. Or hand over control of her body to the irrational part of her brain, the way the dancers were, shaking and spinning and twisting. She was numb in comparison, emotionally stunted, a shell -

"Hermione," Harry said, squeezing her elbow. He'd wrapped his arm around her waist. She hadn't noticed.

"Mmm?" She nestled into Harry's side, her hands finding goosebumps on her arms.

"Are you ok? You keep going all silent on me."

"Why can't I dance like them?_"_

He laughed. "You were about half an hour ago."

So she had been. "Oh."

Harry laughed again, resting his head against her shoulder. "You're such a sad drunk."

"I am not _sad_."

"What's on your mind?"

Hermione heaved an enormous sigh. Maybe she was a little sad. But those people, that _man_. How could she not be? They just didn't understand, didn't get the _point._ She told Harry exactly that.

"What point?" Harry asked after a pause.

"You know what point! Burbage High is doing something so _important_. We're encouraging the next generation of witches and wizards to be tolerant, liberal and unprejudiced. We're giving people real choices with their futures. We're keeping together the families of Muggle-borns and not alienating them from their magical children!"

She thought of her own parents and their irrevocably damaged relationship and found herself teetering towards tears again. Damaged not only from the measures she took to protect them during the war, but also from before that, when magic seemed to give her an inmate sense of superiority that she was not even conscious of having. "Harry, you _know_ what the point is."

"Of course I do. Was this what happened then? Someone get too drunk and forget whose party they were at?"

Hermione nodded, but then said, "yes," when she remembered again that Harry couldn't see her.

He sighed and the light of his cigarette dropped to the ground and vanished. "You can't listen to what other people say, you _know _that_."_ Hermione's felt his hands, warm and big enclose around hers. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled them both back into the chair so she was lying in the crook of his arm, her head on his chest. He smelt of smoke, both bonfire and cigarette so Hermione pushed her face into the cotton of his shirt and breathed in until she caught it - his own smell. Finding solace, Hermione felt the threat of tears begin to withdraw. "So much has changed in the past fourteen years that people have begun to get scared," Harry went on, his voice deep and soft where it rumbled through his chest into her ear. "That's just the older generation though. We all know, and more importantly, the kids you are teaching will know. I know." He wasn't making much sense, the alcohol both muddying and crystallising their trains of thought, but Hermione understood.

"Thanks Harry." She squeezed his hands, hugged closer into his warmth and closed her eyes as the garden spun around them.


	2. The Morning After

Chapter 2 - The Morning After

Hermione awoke the next morning with a dry mouth, a cracking headache and a foreboding sense that she had done something terrible. _At least I appear to be in a bed_, she thought to herself while trying to pin down how she got there. Unfortunately, the final hours of the night were blurred together into one embarrassing, emotional lump. She shifted across the mattress into a beautifully cool patch of bedding and fumbled under the pillows until she found her wand, directed it to her mouth and silently cast a jet of wonderfully cold water down her throat.

The vague anxiety grew until it could no longer be ignored, and after testing the relationship between sudden movement and the threat of vomiting, Hermione decided to at least attempt to get up. She found her smoky clothes in a pile near the door, dressed, cast a lacklustre cleaning charm on herself, smoothed the bush on her head - formally known as her hair - down as much as it was possible and managed to find her way downstairs into Harry's kitchen. Pushing open the door she was confronted by bright sunlight, the pungent smell of bacon and Harry's irritatingly perky demeanour.

"Hermione! You're the first one up. Come and take a seat. Breakfast?" Harry bounded over and shoved a glass of something red and thick into her hands.

"No, Harry... I'm so hungover," she croaked. "Please. Please leave me alone."

"I thought you might say that. _This_ is my special hangover cocktail, a 'Pure Bloody Mary.'" He grinned at her expression. "No, there's no vodka, just a shot of Pepperup Potion. Honestly, it will do the trick."

She took a tentative sip, and after finding it quite pleasant, a longer one and followed Harry over to the large scrubbed oak table and sank down into a wooden chair. If she sat completely still, then maybe she would be okay.

"Bacon?" Harry asked.

"Maybe. It might help. Harry. Did I do - something last night?"

Harry glanced at her from where he was levitating a queue of clean glasses from the sink into a cupboard. "Hangover that bad?"

Hermione grimaced. "Just answer."

"No. Well, a few hiccups early on but I had to drag you to bed by the end. You and Marv had some sort of interpretive dance battle still going at three."

"Oh Merlin." Harry laughed and flicked the cupboard door shut with a loud snap. Hermione winced. "What's wrong with you?" She said. "Why are you so alive and happy? It's incredibly irritating."

"Practice," he said with a maddening grin. "Tea or coffee?"

"Coffee, please. Do you have the Prophet this morning?"

"I do, but why don't you finish your drink first?"

Hermione groaned. "Is it really bad...?"

"Not bad at all, but you'll feel better if you're more... you."

She grimaced, downed the drink in one and held both hands for the paper, only to draw them back in immediately to clench into her face. "Shit!" It felt like Tabasco, wasabi and Pepperup were fighting an explosive battle within her sinuses.

"Should have warned you not to do that," Harry said offhandedly and threw the paper so it slid towards her across the table and went back to the oven to turn over the bacon.

With her eyes and nose streaming, but somehow already feeling slightly better for it, Hermione flicked to the comment section and found the article she was looking for.

The feeling of dread returned and intensified as soon as she read the title.

_Will New Head Save Failing School, Burbage High?_

_When Burbage High was founded twelve years ago, many hailed it as the gap that would bridge the wizarding elite with the worst off in our community. Promoting social equality by seemingly offering the opportunity for upwards social mobility, Burbage High does not require any fees and claims to not discriminate in its admissions on basis of wealth, blood status, family connections or even magical ability. It was suggested that the school would allow hundreds of young, magical people to reach their potential that ordinarily would be denied to them when they were denied admission at Hogwarts._

_One of the more controversial policies at Burbage (of which there are many), is the decision to make aspects of the Muggle syllabus mandatory until 3rd year and then allow students an option to continue to 'GCSE', the muggle equivalent of OWLS. But what use are such qualifications to a wizarding employer?_

_Burbage spokesperson, Orla Quirke, when reached for comment, stated that 'the Muggle curriculum is an integral aspect of the school as it ensures that Muggle-born students with an interest in pursuing a career outside the wizarding world will not be alienated or displaced. They will have the option to continue their studies elsewhere, even to university level, which is often required to get any kind of skilled Muggle job in the UK. Also, the curriculum doesn't alienate Muggle parents and creates a higher level of trust between them and the faculty. In the past, when aged only 11, a Muggle-born witch or wizard and her or his parents had to make the decision between accepting the Hogwarts letter or remaining a Muggle based on little more than a flashy display of magic in their living room and no information on the type of society the child would be entering, it is little wonder that so many Muggle parents were skeptical and turned down the place at Hogwarts and with it, any chance at a magical education. This no doubt prevented countless potentially magical people from entering our society and contributing to it in their own way.'_

_However, not everyone shares these opinions and the school has been plagued with criticism ever since opening, particularly in recent years when published OWL results have slipped to embarrassingly low levels. Disturbing reports of uncontrollable students and classroom disruption have also surfaced. 'The students seem completely wild. We have seriously considered pulling our son out but luckily for us he can study hard, despite the environment,' stated one mother who wishes to remain anonymous._

_One of the biggest criticisms of Burbage High lie in its apparent disregard for traditions and culture associated with ancient wizard society. The school's most vocal opponents are of course the Wizarding Independence Party, which has accused the school, amongst other things, of focusing on Muggle education to such an extent that they have lost sight of what makes learning magic so special._

_This must indeed be the worry of Ms. Hermione Granger, who was announced as the new head of Burbage High earlier this summer, after the last was swept out of office, embroiled in public scandal. Preparations are underway this week to welcome the new students and parents to the school, and Ms. Granger, who until now has remained tight lipped, is expected to be delivering a speech outlining just how she is going to turn this school around._

_Ms. Granger, age 32, is well known for her part in the fall of He Who Must Not Be Named 14 years ago when she was just a teenager, and has quietly and tirelessly devoted herself to the cause of equality for muggle borns ever since. Still unmarried, Ms. Granger is one of a growing trend of witches who have decided to forego the traditional route of marriage and child raising in favour of a career. This reporter hopes that her sacrifice will indeed be worth it and Ms. Granger manages to succeed where so many have failed._

She let the paper drop to see Harry leant against the work surface, watching her carefully. "It's not totally bad, Herm-"

"Are you kidding?" She interrupted. "This is – this is –" she skimmed the last paragraph again. "'A growing trend of witches'?" she smacked the paper with the back of her hand. "Unbelievable. Wizards really are about fifty years behind Muggles, aren't they?"

"Who's the journalist?"

"Oh. A woman. Well of _course_ it is. Oh god, Orla said she had this under control. Said she had their _word_ that this would be favourable."

"The word of the Prophet is worth fuck all."

"I'm beginning to learn that."

"Well," Harry pushed himself away from the counter to plunge the cafetiere. "At least they said the WIP hates you. That's good publicity, right?"

"Harry, I'm meeting with potential parents tomorrow. I've _got_ to get them to want to send their kids to us! I can't have things like this-" she hit the paper again, the photo of herself ripped, "-putting them off. If I can't get the numbers we'll be shut down. You don't realise how precarious this situation is. _Any_ bad publicity - The board is constantly on our backs, as is the Ministry of course, not to mention the delegation from Ofsted."

"Who are they?" asked Harry, sliding into the seat opposite and placing a cup before her.

"The Office for Standards in Education. They're Muggle school inspectors. We've got pressure from all three sides, each trying to pull us their own way. I'm so scared something will snap, Harry. The kids need us. It will be so unfair if we go down."

She sunk her head back into her hands and massaged her scalp as the headache that had been temporarily cured started to creep back. "Everyone has sunk so much money into this school, they all have such a vested interest. I've spent the summer examining the books, results, children's and teachers' reports... I don't know what to do." She glanced up, remembering the coffee and took a long, burning gulp. "I mean, of _course_ I know what I _want_ to do, but I just don't see how. I feel like more of a diplomat than a headmistress, constantly going from one injured party to the next, trying to appease and diffuse here and there. I just wish I had some level of autonomy. Just a _tiny_ bit more control and I really think I could do it."

"If only I could just take up my family seat on the Wizengamot, buy myself on to the school board, bribe a few officials and blackmail one of my cronies into a prominent teaching position," Harry said with a straight face. "Then maybe I might be able to help."

Hermione's despair cracked and she snorted. "If only our political system was still stuck in the dark ages," she said with a reluctant smile. "Anyway Harry, you know you wouldn't need to go to those lengths for political power. People would bend over themselves to get you into government. Imagine having you as a member of your party? The amount of voters would be record breaking."

"Well, apart from the fact that the idea of going into politics makes me feel ill, I think my life's mission to discredit myself has been an absolute success and no one would trust me with a bargepole," Harry grinned, unrepentant. "As for our current political system, I think it would be pretty naïve to imagine that sort of corruption isn't still happening on some level."

She knew he was right of course, but admitting it just felt like admitting they had failed. Harry's take on the Wizengamot and Ministry of Magic was dead accurate in its cynicism.

"Anyway, things will be different once term starts and the children arrive. Then everyone will see you are to be taken seriously and your boyfriend, or lack thereof, doesn't matter one fucking jot," he concluded with finality as he got up to take the bacon out of the oven.

The once foul smell was suddenly very appealing to Hermione and she appreciatively clocked the liberal amount of butter and ketchup Harry was spreading on to the soft, white bread.

"Here, eat this, I'll be back in a minute. Going to wake up Sleeping Beauty." Harry placed the sandwich in front of her and left the kitchen holding another pureblood cocktail, or whatever it was called.

With the sandwich in one hand, Hermione flicked the paper shut, idly wiping a dribble of bacon grease off her chin, and inspected the front page. The main headline was of course about the terrible events in Slovenia on Friday. She scanned the article, brow furrowed and lips pursed. _Four Muggles dead and three missing... Suspicions were confirmed yesterday when terrorist group, Svoboda, took credit for the attack... worryingly echoing events in Britain in the 1990s..._

She looked to the next headline with a small shake of her head.

_WIP Continue to Gain Support from Marginalised Witches and Wizards. _

_Nigellus Mirage, leader of The Wizarding Independence Party, continues to garner support at a grass roots level following a string of appearances up and down the country. During their latest campaign the WIP have been targeting those who have claimed to have been forgotten by recent governments. The once 'one policy party,' are now promising voters that they will do all in their power to 'halt the decline in wizarding values,' 'create magical jobs for magical people,' tone down the strong pro-Muggle rhetoric in government and aim to banish when they call discriminatory Muggle-born equality legislation in the Ministry and its official bodies. Rising party star Percy Weasley, deputy treasurer, was quoted as stating, 'The old prejudices of blood purity are in the past, the problem has been solved. We have no need for these rigid controls any longer. Muggle-born quotas and positive discrimination are, ineffective measures that we need to eradicate. The longer wizards from magical backgrounds believe we have something to be apologetic for, the longer and more extensive the damage is to our culture, society and national psyche.'_

Hermione huffed and slapped the paper back down as Harry returned to the kitchen, followed by a disheveled Marv, wearing what appeared to be a pair of Harry's Slytherin-themed green and silver pyjamas that stopped a good 4 inches above a very hairy ankle. "Morning," he muttered, scraping a hand through his tangled mane of hair.

"Morning," Hermione replied, strange visions from last night of Marv voguing underneath a fountain of enchanted petals flashing through her mind. She shook her head. "Harry, did you read this?" She gestured towards the paper.

"What, about the killings? Yeah, it's horrible... I know what people are saying but I really don't believe we've got another Voldemort on our hands." Marv choked on his coffee. "There's just not enough subtlety, Dark Magic would leave a different mark, something more insidious. They're just terrorists."

"Not to be underestimated," Hermione warned.

"No, of course not, but I'm sure Central Europe will be able to deal with them without the rest of us getting involved.".

"Did you read the one below it?" she asked.

Harry slammed his coffee down on the table. "Do _not_ talk to me about Percy Weasley. Jumped up little twat. Ginny's beside herself, we don't understand why he's doing this again. It's just a slap in the face. I'm sure he think's he's doing the right thing, we all do on _some_ level. I just can't believe that people honestly think that supporting the WIP is the answer. I mean, we know Percy's background is alright, but the other members' motivations are seriously questionable. I bet if you did a little digging, the dirt you would uncover..."

He broke off with a distracted look into the kitchen. "Marv love, the toaster is electric, please don't use your wand, you'll damage it. The switch is on the wall." The singer grunted something unintelligible in reply.

_So much for not having an interest in politics_, Hermione thought. It was classic Harry - always downplaying himself.

"What are you up today, Herm?" he said, interrupting her contemplation.

"I need to get back to Burbage and prepare for tomorrow. Put the finishing touches on my speech, go over all the names and backgrounds again... You know, that kind of thing."

"You finished your speech and memorised everything in sight weeks ago!" Harry exclaimed. "I've barely seen you all summer. What else have you been doing holed away at that school?"

"Well, you know how it is. How I am," she ruefully admitted. "What about you?"

"We might take a stroll over the Heath, maybe cycle down to the zoo. What do you say, Marv? You up for entertaining the snakes in the Reptile House?"

Marv grinned, suddenly much more awake. "You know I love it when you speak Parseltongue. It gives me goosebumps, in a good way," he growled, his famous voice huskier even than usual.

Harry smirked, gave a hiss that sounded vaguely lecherous and began to slide his slipper clad feet along the terracotta tiles towards him.

Hermione decided this was her cue to leave. "Okay, guys! I'm off!" she announced, standing.

She picked up her bag and reached inside. "Harry, I meant to give this to you yesterday, I'm sorry. Happy Birthday!" She took out a small rectangular present, neatly wrapped in red and gold and handed it over.

Harry's eyes opened a fraction wider as he ripped of the paper and gazed into the picture frame. "This is wonderful Hermione, where on earth did you find it?" he asked in a soft voice.

"At an auction. They were selling off some vintage Boy Who Lived merchandise."

"Which you just happened to be browsing through?" he said, shortly.

"Well, I kind of was thinking of getting you a joke present. I mean, you are impossible to buy for usually. Anyway, I saw this and of course I had to get it." She reached out and took the gift from Harry's hands and gazed down on to the photo. It was of the three of them in the Gryffindor common room. Harry, Ron and herself, probably only 14 or 15, laughing and joking around, unaware of the photographer. Before life had made things too complicated and strange for them ever to have many more moments like this one again. "I think it must have been taken by Colin Creevey. God knows how it ended up in the sale."

"I love it Hermione, thank you so, so much," Harry said with a sweet smile.

She gave it back and stood up. Harry walked her to the living room and placed the photo on the mantlepiece between two pictures of the boys. "Listen. Good luck tomorrow. You will be fantastic and they will be tripping over themselves to sign their kids up."

Hermione grimaced. "I hope so."

"Oh, and don't forget to fill me in on Malfoy!" Harry added.

She laughed and gave him a hug goodbye. "Bye Harry, take care. I'll see you soon, okay?" Reaching for the pot of Floo powder, Hermione took a pinch and threw it in the grate. "Thirty-two Harlesden Road," she announced. Stepping into the flames, she was whisked away back to reality.


	3. A family reunion

A family Reunion

About seven miles southeast of Hampstead, in a far less leafy and pleasant part of London, Draco Malfoy was sat at his kitchen table surveying yet another job rejection letter with bitter hopelessness. The feeling had a harsher edge than usual which Draco knew to attribute to how _detailed_ his fantasy of getting the job had become. Of turning up to lunch today and telling them the deal was over, that he didn't need _them_ or their money anymore.

"Fuck off," he snapped at the owl, while scrunching the parchment up into a ball. The bird was hanging around, apparently thinking it deserved a treat, as it would never have been instructed to wait for a reply from _him_. Draco aimed at the owl's head, lopped the letter over, but narrowly missed. It gave an angry squawk and hopped up on to the window sill, talons clacking on the plastic. He stood up and stalked over to the window, slamming it shut behind the owl as it flew off.

Draco leaned his forehead against the cool glass and watched it swoop across the estate and back west towards Diagon Alley, dwelling on the rejection. He didn't want to do commercial potion ingredient preparation anyway. It was a complete waste of his skills; even a squib could do it.

Twenty stories down he could some Muggle kids on bikes on the grassy quadrangle that divided the blocks of flats pointing up towards the bird. Draco didn't care that they saw it today, they were probably too thick to notice the coming and going of owls most of the time anyway. He doubted they could even tell it from a pigeon.

"Father, are you okay?" Scorpius' small, concerned voice said from behind him.

Draco shut his eyes and tried to relax his tensed shoulders. Shit. Scorpius had probably heard him swear. "Of course," he said, turning around, his forced smile becoming genuine as he saw his son's hair. Scorp had tried to style it in the same, slicked back way as his own, but a few pale blonde strands were already falling into his eyes. Scorpius lifted a self-conscious hand to smooth them back, his gaze dropping from Draco's to the floor.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked. "You look great."

Scorpius snorted and shrugged, looking up through pale lashes at him in a _shut up father_ kind of way. "Why do I have to wear these?" He stopped touching his hair to tug on the sleeves of robes that showed slightly too much wrist. Draco's pride muddied with guilt. He didn't know any tailoring spells advanced enough to permanently create fabric, though thinking of the cost of new robes for a boy who had grown that much in a month, the last time he'd worn the robes, he really ought to. "I hate robes. I feel so stupid," Scorpius continued. "No one will see us will they?"

No one, meaning the Muggles. "No, I think all of your friends are outside on the square. Besides, I don't think your grandparents would take too kindly to you turning up in jeans." Scorpius scowled. "Come on, get your shoes on."

Draco locked up the flat and the two began their walk through the halls, Scorpius rushing forward to check ahead whenever they approached a corner just in case of approaching Muggle witnesses to their wizard's robes. They passed no one, however, except for the scruffy evidence and unpleasant, stuffy smells of human habitation. The flats were old and past their best, if ever they had one. It was home though, their sanctuary. Draco just hoped Scorp felt the same way after lunch at the manor. It was the same every month, the same fears and insecurities plagued him as they Disapparated from silk upholstery back to polyester, from Persian rugs to linoleum, from topiary to concrete. From all the things a boy like his son should have to what Draco could offer him.

They made their way up the draughty staircase and finally reached the chained-up door that led to the outside courtyard. Draco unlocked it with his wand and they stepped through into the warmth and brilliant sunlight, temporarily blinded after the dusty perpetual twilight of the hallway.

"You sure you want to go?" Draco asked him. A pointless question really, as Scorpius was desperate to see his grandparents, even if he was trying to hide it from his father.

As expected, Scorpius gave a blasé shrug. Draco tried not to wince. Here was his son, eleven years old and already regularly employing the Malfoy skill of hiding his true feelings. "Look Scorpius, they're your grandparents. Just because I don't necessarily get on with them doesn't mean that you aren't allowed to want to see them. You don't need pretend just to please me."

Scorpius glanced up at his dad and gave him a small smile, so similar to Astoria's that even after all this time it took Draco's breath away. "Sorry, father."

Draco took a hold of Scorpius's hand with the excuse of the impending Apparition and gave it a squeeze. "Don't apologise for that," he said and with the warmth of that smile preventing his thoughts from turning back down purely apprehensive roads, Draco focused on the desired patch of field in rural Dorset and after a twist of his arm and an unpleasant, rib crushing surge they stumbled into soft, padded grass, fresher air and a cool breeze.

A few feet away a pheasant burst into the air with a screech and a frantic beating of its wings, red golden feathers flashing in the sunlight. Draco held his son steady as he felt him jump, but after a few moments Scorpius tugged himself out of Draco's hands. Scorp's attempt to run uphill through the long grass soon turned into forceful wading and Draco walked slowly behind along in his path, avoiding disturbed anthills and patches of nettles that Scorpius had bulldozed through, holding a constant but weary eye on his son as he went. The boy had reached the fence, but his robes had caught on something as he climbed, a nail perhaps. Legs astride the fence, Scorpius looked down, frowning, tugging and before Draco could shout he heard the sound of ripping fabric. With a quick, guilty grimace back at his father, Scorpius vaulted to the ground and sprinted into the copse of trees ahead.

It's for reasons like that that we do this. Keep remembering that. New robes for Scorp are more important than anything else. However, as Draco followed through the trees and on to the gravel drive of an elegant, Georgian mansion, it was hard to keep up the sentiment.

Scorpius was waiting at the front door, facing back towards Draco with a frown. "Come on, Father! Hurry up!" he called.

But before Draco could reach him, the door opened and a high pitch, quavering voice rang out, "Master Malfoy! Master Malfoy is here!"

Scorpius turned away from his father. "Hello Mopsy!" he said with a happy familiarity that nearly made Draco break into a jog as he approached. "How are you?"

"Oh Master Malfoy is such a kind boy, so like his mother, asking how poor old Mopsy is. Mopsy has been missing Master Malfoy a great deal! I is always saying it is not the same without you being here and –"

"Tell your master and mistress we are here," Draco interrupted, arriving on the doorstep, putting his hand on Scorp's shoulder.

The creature looked up at him, its ugly bulbous eyes narrowing. Scorpius did the same. "Father, Mopsy can show us in. You don't need to be so formal."

"Yes, of course Master Malfoy is right! Mopsy will show the kind master to the drawing room where master and mistress is waiting!"

Draco curbed the vicious urge to kick the elf's retreating back as Scorp ducked away from his hands. He followed them slowly into the house, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor. So it begins. Even the damn house elf was determined to undermine him.

The voices drifting out of the door at the end of the hallway suddenly stopped and were replaced by exclamations of greeting as Scorpius bounded through. Draco took his time, but even walking at a snail's pace would not put off the inevitable encounter forever.

He entered the drawing room just as his son was breaking apart from his grandmother's embrace. Draco's eyes were drawn instantly, as always, to the portrait of Astoria and Scorpius above the grand piano. Apart from a couple of tatty photographs he did not have any pictures of her of his own. She was softy rendered in the oil paint, all fluttering brushstrokes and in gentle colours that suited her personality perfectly. She gave him a huge smile before bending forward to whisper something in their young son's ear. That smile was the _only_ good thing that existed in this house. No matter how much Draco knew it was only a painting, it always made the subsequent meal that tiny bit more bearable.

"Hullo Draco," came the clipped, unfriendly voice of Apollon Greengrass from a cream armchair next to the fireplace, pulling him abruptly from his thoughts. Apollon was a distinguished-looking man in his late sixties with a full grey mustache, whose cold blue eyes only seemed to soften on his immediate family, Draco not included. It was fine by him, he hated the pompous bastard anyway.

"Apollon." Draco gave him the curtest nod in reply. "Amelia," he turned to Scorpius's grandmother. She was a good-looking woman for her age, with long slim legs and a pale grey bob streaked with blonde. While both her daughters had taken after her physically, only Daphne seemed to have inherited her cold and haughty countenance. She rather reminded Draco of his own mother, or rather of how she used to be.

"Scorpius darling, look how much you've grown!" She trilled, ignoring Draco completely, holding Scorp away by the tops of his arms, her gaze running up and down his body.

"It's only been a month Granny," Scorpius replied, rolling his eyes.

"A month is an eternity without you my love." She ran her hands across his shoulders, pinching at the fabric. Draco knew what was coming."Now now, those robes are far too small for you. Don't you agree Apollon."

"Oh yes, far too small," replied her husband, shooting Draco a look which he ignored in favour of attempting to battle his own guilt at how embarrassed Scorpius looked, his hands tugging once again at his sleeves.

"Oh Scorpius, don't worry about that now, you look splendid." Amelia said, her hand on his cheek. "Growing up into the perfect Greengrass man."

Scorpius ducked his head and muttered his thanks. Draco could just make out a smile he hoped Scorpius wasn't hiding for his sake.

His grandmother beamed. "Darling boy. Now, we have a little gift for you." She clicked her fingers and Mopsy reappeared, clutching a long wrapped package.

It was another broom.

Amelia met Draco's eyes for a split second and a let out a tiny bubble of laughter just as Draco realised how badly he was scowling. _They're just doing this to get at me. Don't give her the satisfaction of knowing how much this affects you,_ he thought, but it was too late. Glowing with smug pride Amelia flicked her hair from her face as she took the package off the elf, and handed to his son who didn't wait to start ripping off the paper.

"Oh my God. Oh my God." Scorpius said, exposing a beautiful, shining honey coloured handle. "Oh my god!" His voice broke into a shout. "It's the new Firebolt Supreme!" He was jumping on the spot, his face so animated with happiness Draco suddenly felt petty at the amount of anger surging through his body. "Thank you so much, Granny and Grandfather!" He threw his free arm back around the bony body of Amelia in a one-armed hug and ran over to do the same to Apollo.

"Look, Father!" Scorpius span around to Draco. "Look! The Firebolt Supreme! It's such a _sick_ broom!"

A slight grimace spasmed across Amelia's face at the use of the obvious Muggle slang, no doubt picked up hanging around the boys on the estate, and Draco did not have to try so hard to force out a smirk.

"Yes, Scorpius, it is indeed sick. Now why don't you go and try it out, we can watch you from in here," he bit out, gesturing to the french windows. As Scorpius ran from the room, Draco took a deep, steadying breath and tried to collect his wits. How dare they buy him a broom that cost _that_ much. It was at least triple the amount of money they were about to provide him with for them to live off for a month. The least Draco could do was accuse them of horrendous insensitivity. Though he knew that would be far too generous.

"Well, try not to look like you want to strangle the poor boy, Malfoy," Amelia remarked, flouncing down onto the sofa.

"Scorpius is not who I would like to strangle at this moment, Amelia," he snapped back.

She gave a tinkling laugh and waved her hand breezily, dismissing his reply. "It's only a broomstick."

Draco clenched his nails into his palm. _Only a broomstick._ "It's not even his birthday, what warrants such a gift?" he said.

"You barely let us see our grandson, Malfoy," said Apollon, gruffly. "What's the harm in spoiling him a little when you do bring him over?"

"Spoiling him? Don't you think that money could have been put to better use on –" _rent, robes, food,_ he thought, but couldn't say. "-books, a pet, or – or even a holiday –"

"Oh, Draco," Amelia said on a sigh that made Draco want curse her. Her elbow rested on the arm of the sofa as she idly swilled a half drunk glass of pale white wine. "_You're_ the one who won't let us take him down to the villa. We've wanted to all summer long. I hadn't realised you'd changed your mind."

"No, I haven't. No holidays." Draco backtracked, frustrated with himself for the slip. "You'll see him once a month for lunch, in accordance with our agreement."

"Oh yes . . . that. Well the thing is, it rather does appear as if things sound a little tight at your end. You know we can always give you more money. You only need to ask." She smiled and looked up at him. "Apollon and I both feel we could spend a little more time with Scorpius. I know you'll agree, since we are paying you for the privilege of bringing him up."

"You cannot blackmail me with my own son," Draco's voice wavered slightly. They could; they had been doing it ever since he'd left Azkaban and the court gave them that power. He got custody on the condition of their aid. Financial and 'emotional.' And because it was no secret how destitute the Malfoys had become since the war, he'd had no choice but to agree.

"Blackmail is a little extreme, Draco" Amelia began, "It's just, since he's off to Hogwarts soon-"

"But he isn't going to Hogwarts, _Amelia_," Draco ground out, his resolve to remain calm fracturing gradually, but surely.

Apollon snorted. "Of course he is. What, do you think you could give him a better education at home? It's unnatural, wanting to spend so much time with the boy. We've been through this, you'll let us send him to Hogwarts and that's the end of it."

"He's not going to Hogwarts." Draco repeated quietly. "You cannot make him."

"We don't need to make _him_ do anything," Apollon said. "He'd go happily."

"He's not going."

Apollon stood up, spluttering, his face turning a blotchy red. "You dare- you and your _bloody_ selfish Malfoy attitude, always harming those around you," he blustered. "You're only thinking of yourself and it's _despicable_."

"Obviously he's only thinking of himself, darling." Amelia's nonchalance was betrayed by the narrow-eyed look of abhorrence she was giving Draco. "His family has been doing it for years. Like father like son." Draco flinched at the accusation and Amelia's eyes gleamed. "Yes you're behaving just like dear Lucius. Have you even considered what Scorpius wants, Draco? Of course you haven't. Scorpius wants to go to Hogwarts, just like every Greengrass before him."

But Draco _had_ considered how much Scorpius wanted to attend the school. It was why keeping the Hogwarts letter from him had felt so awful, why sending back a rejection in secret had had been so difficult, despite having thought carefully about it for months and knowing he was right to do so.

"There are many reasons why I am not sending him to Hogwarts, none of which I feel the need to go over with you." Draco spoke slowly and clearly, and watched in satisfaction as Amelia grimaced and downed the last of her wine. "However, I will assure you, yet again, they are all in his best interests. You forget that as his father, I am his legal guardian, and if I wanted to I could stop these visits all together."

"You couldn't afford to stop," Amelia spat.

"I'd find a way," he said, barely keeping his voice from wavering. "If I think that you are trying to get between me and my son."

At that moment, Scorpius burst back into the room like a gust of fresh air and the charged atmosphere was blown away. "Father! Aunt Daphne and Uncle Blaise are coming! I saw them from the broom! It's so so fast, did you watch me through the window?"

Draco strode over to his son and enveloped him in a hug, face buried in his soft pale blonde hair. He smelt of sunshine and the wind. The smell of Quidditch. Draco felt himself calm with the tranquillising effects of warmth and nostalgia and felt Scorpius relax from his initial surprise and begin to return the hug. They were not usually that close physically, but right now, Draco needed this.

But he couldn't have it for long. "Father, let go! Stop being weird!" Scorpius whined after a few moments.

Draco pulled away, suddenly feeling awkward, but Scorpius was grinning up at him. "I'm gonna go and meet them on the drive!" With that he sprinted back out of the room, leaving Draco to collect himself under the thunderous glares of the Greengrasses.

* * *

Lunch was a horrid affair of tense silences, put-downs that barely scraped by as back-handed compliments, and small talk that was steadily becoming more and more inappropriate children's ears. Daphne was her usual chilly self with Draco and spent most of lunch picking at her food and steadily getting more and more drunk and outrageous while ignoring her two small daughters. Zabini wasn't much better. If Draco had to graciously decline his 'generous' offer of work on one of his factory floors once more, he would have to curse something. At least Scorpius seemed to be having a nice time: chatting away to his cousins about broomsticks and London, and politely joining in with the adult conversation when required.

"I say, did anyone read the Prophet article about the WIP this morning? Front page?" asked Apollon in the wait between the roast beef and pudding.

"Oh yes," said Zabini, folding up his napkin with fastidious care, smoothing it into a neat rectangle. "It's rather interesting how popular they're becoming. This Nigellus Mirage is an exceptional character."

"Yes indeed," Apollon boomed. "Finally we have a party that our kind can get behind." He raised his glass to Zabini who clinked his own against it with a nod and a small smile. "It's about time we started being proud again of being wizards, and not hiding behind all this – cringing, apologetic - this _Muggle_ loving."

Draco looked over at Scorpius, who he noticed had stopped chatting to the girls and was watching his Apollon intently. "What do you mean, Grandfather?" the boy asked.

"Well, after the war and while your father was in prison-" Draco set his glass down loudly at the table. Apollon shot him a look and continued to Scorpius: "Yes, after the war, the good wizards and witches of this country decided that they needed to become more... Muggle. To stop anyone like You Know Who from rising again. Why they thought this was the answer is as good as anyone's guess, and the result was that slowly but surely our culture and society has been degrading to one that is equal to the Muggles."

He leant in conspiratorially to Scorpius, cheeks flushed slightly with Merlot. "Now, we're not supposed to say this anymore, but no one round this table will mind. But wizards are better than Muggles!"

"Hear, hear!" Amelia said, clinking her own glass against Daphne's.

Scorpius's smile faltered and he sent his dad a nervous, hesitant look. Draco kept quiet, not sure whether he should intervene in this lesson in modern right-wing politics, not knowing himself what he believed in, in all honesty.

When he and Astoria had had Scorpius they had agreed to raise him in such a way that they did not impart their own prejudices on to their son, knowing full well the damage it could wreak. However, while Draco had swept Scorpius away from his grandparents and into the little world he had carved for them in the estate in Bethnal Green, two years spent under the care of proud pure-bloods had done its damage. Since then he had had many frank conversations with his son about Muggles and how they felt about them. Since Scorpius had been making friends with the local Muggle children recently, something Draco was simultaneously at loath to encourage yet did not exactly want to discourage, he thought perhaps Scorpius was seeing the potential in them in a way that he still could not quite manage to do.

"Not all wizards are better than Muggles," Scorpius said uncertainly.

Draco smiled to himself. After two years of getting to know his son, Scorpius still had the ability to surprise him.

"What a surprise, someone's been feeding him horse shit." Daphne whispered to Blaise loudly, her voice audible to everyone. Draco smirked, she didn't even know the worst of it.

"Well, yes," Apollon said gruffly, ignoring his daughter. "Maybe there are some Muggles out there who are better than others. But anyway, the WIP aren't trying to say that wizards are superior to Muggles, but the fact that we are different and have a culture that we need to preserve."

"Why don't you join them then, Grandfather?" Scorpius asked, appeased by Apollon's vague, transparent backpedaling.

"Greengrass's have a history of staying politically neutral, my boy!" he boomed. "You can support someone politically, but only do it behind closed doors."

Scorpius frowned, as if trying to visualise these mysterious doors.

"It's the true Slytherin way of doing things," his grandfather explained. Scorpius instantly perked up at the sound of the Hogwarts house and gazed in rapture at Apollon.

"Yes, that's right, my boy, you'd be a good a Slytherin as any of us in the Greengrass family," Apollon praised. "None of this ridiculous posturing you find in other families, putting their reputations on the line for the words of individual men, whether it is the insanity of the l Dark Lord himself, or even Nigellus Mirage. Not that the two are similar at all, mind you," he added hastily.

Draco grit his teeth and willed the conversation away from what he could see was its inevitable path.

"The Malfoys and the Blacks -"

Here we go, Draco thought, now grinding his teeth.

"- two noble pure blooded families from which you are descended on your father's side - have met with ruin for this reason. You'll do well to remember this, my boy."

Draco watched with unease as Scorpius drank in his grandfather's words. Any mention of his former school House and Scorpius was all ears. He had mythologized Slytherin to such an extent that he wouldn't listen to Draco's measured words of caution. Luckily, he was saved from weighing in to defend his family's questionable honour by Daphne.

"God, enough about politics, Daddy! All this family history is utterly tedious," she complained loudly. "Did anyone read what else was in the paper this morning? That piece about this 'Burbage High?' That reporter utterly demolished the new head."

"Do you remember her, darling?" she drawled to Draco. "That insufferable Mudblood girl we hated, Hermione Granger. Well, we could always tell she'd end up on the shelf!" She let out a shrill laugh and the other adults joined in.

Draco saw Scorpius' eyes widen with shock at the use of that word, and he himself felt a flip of unease at how easily it rolled off Daphne's tongue. It would have rolled just as easily off his own at one point, and had done with regularity. Even now it was sometimes hard not to let it slip out. Funny how something once so casual was now fraught with confusing associations.

"Granger is such a common, Muggle name," Amelia said unpleasantly. "Well, Burbage High is a school for common people, so I'm not surprised. I shudder to think what goes on in those walls and how on earth it could pass for an education. I mean, what sensible witch or wizard would send their child there when Hogwarts would have them? They should just shut it down. Even one of the European schools would be preferable. A second-class school, for second-class students."

Her prattle was met with a murmur of agreement around the table. Draco met his son's round eyes and averted them quickly. He couldn't forget the look of quiet shock he'd just seen in them at Amelia's words, but he pushed the thought away: This was it, the moment he had been anticipating with both frantic apprehension, and a slight thrill of excitement. He just couldn't wait to wipe the smirks off their smug faces. The image of the 100 Galleon broom flared to mind. Scorpius would understand; he was doing it for him anyway.

"Funny you should bring it up, Daphne, as Scorpius and I actually have decided that he will be attending Burbage High in September," Draco drawled in what he hoped was a convincingly offhand way.

There was complete silence at his words. He glanced up at Scorpius who was glaring into his lap.

"I'm sorry? What did you just say?" The voice of Mr. Greengrass thundered.

"Our grandson, attend a Muggle school?" Mrs. Greengrass shrieked.

"But I don't understand. You're Draco Malfoy. Even with your whole reformation thing, I can't see you wanting your son to grow up loving Muggles. I mean, that is ridiculous!" Daphne muttered drunkenly.

Blaise just sat there shaking his head and laughing silently, as if everything was oh so amusing. He clearly didn't give a shit.

"Taught by a Mudblood?" screeched Daphne.

"They learn Muggle subjects!" Amelia shrieked.

Draco reveled in the momentary distress his words had caused the Greengrass family. That was until he spotted Scorpius with tears trickling down his face, still glaring at his lap. Draco's mirth from only a second ago suddenly felt brittle and facile. His smirk fell and he tried to reach out to him across the table, but the boy flinched away.

"You said that we were only going to the open day, but we hadn't decided yet. That we hadn't ruled out Hogwarts. You lied to me," Scorpius choked out quietly.

Draco cringed at his words, not knowing what to say and suddenly feeling incredibly dirty for all his self-satisfaction.

"I WANT TO GO TO HOGWARTS!" his son suddenly shouted, small, clenched fists banging on the table. He turned his face up towards his father and Draco cringed at the rage he saw directed at him. "I want to be in Slytherin, and play Quidditch on my new broom and have friends that are WIZARDS for once, not stupid... Mudbloods!"

Draco felt something deep and raw inside him break and slowly stood up.

"Look what you've done, you stupid man!" Amelia spat at Draco, also standing up and blocking his path to his son. "Can't you see what's best for him? Let the poor boy go to school with his own kind. Stop depriving him of what he deserves!"

Draco felt his resolve start to weaken. How could he have completely fucked this up so badly? Perhaps they were all right. Hogwarts had been his own home for six years and he had loved it so much more than the manor. Well, before he had ruined everything.

"Mudbloods!" yelled Draco's youngest niece, banging her fork down on her plate, trying to draw some of the attention back to herself.

Daphne broke the tension by braying in laughter and Draco winced, feeling his determination return in a wave at the vulgarity of the scene. This was why Scorpius was not going to Hogwarts. He turned towards Amelia and used his considerable height to look down on her face usually so composed, now twisted and ugly in anger. "My son will be with his own kind at Burbage High. Witches and wizards. Come Scorpius, we are leaving."

Scorpius recognised his authoritative tone and violently pushed his chair back from the table. Furiously rubbing the tears from his eyes he stormed from the room, pausing just before the door to scream that he hated his father, before slamming it loudly behind him.

Draco raced to catch up with him, leaving the Greengrass's to their ruined pudding and their hysteria, and taking with him the monstrous task of repairing a ruined relationship.


	4. Lessons to be Learnt

**Disclaimer: i don't own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does.**

Chapter 4 - Lessons to be Learnt

Draco flipped through the pile of bank statements and growingly aggressive letters from lenders one last time and sighed in frustration. If only he had waited until after the cheque had exchanged hands before making that awful scene. He hated himself for having to accept it, but he hated himself more for the desperate financial situation his typical pride and spite had put them in for the next month. He dragged his hands through his hair and stood up, scraping the chair back loudly in the dingy kitchen. He got out two cups and began to brew some tea, automatically going through the magical motions while his thoughts churned through the same depressing loop of guilt, doubt and self-disgust. Both mugs in hand; he walked through the living room and to Scorpius' bedroom door and paused outside listening. He hadn't heard anything from him since they had returned from lunch five hours previously in that horribly tense silence. Draco, too cowardly to do more than lightly press Scorpius' shoulder during the apparition, and Scorpius, clearly too full of hurt and betrayal to do less than flinch at the contact.

Draco took a deep breathe and knocked tentatively on the door. There was no reply.

"Scorpius, I've made you a cup of tea. Please can I come in?" Silence. "Look, you need to drink something, you'll be dehydrated." And with that he creaked open the door. The small, plain room was dimly lit by the lamp next to his son's bed, the soft glow illuminating the various quidditch posters and photographs on the wall. Draco's old Slytherin scarf; usually wrapped around the bedstead had been thrown against the opposite wall, as had the worn, soft green dragon toy that Draco had given him as a baby just before his incarceration. Scorpius was lying on his side in bed, facing the bedside table, one arm outstretched and holding a picture frame that Draco knew held a photo of him as a baby with his Mother, the other arm holding a ratty old blanket tightly to his body. Scorpius didn't look up at Draco, but he didn't need to for Draco to see the tell tail puffy redness of his eyes.

Draco sat down at the foot of his bed and put his tea down on the floor. He placed the other on the small table and gently put his hand on the duvet covering Scorpius' leg.

"Hey." He gave it a small shake. The words sounded insignificant before he'd even said them. "I'm sorry." Scorpius let out a shaky breathe. "Please Scorp, I am, really sorry." The boys pale blue eyes finally flicked over and acknowledged him. "Please forgive me for what I did today... I just- I just acted incredibly immaturely and I know I hurt you."

"You lied to me." Scorpius' horse voice was tiny and Draco fought a wild compulsion to cry.

"I know, I'm so sorry. I should have told you about Hogwarts sooner. But I couldn't do it, not when telling you would have upset you so much. I wanted you to at least see Burbage first, so the news didn't seem so bad."

"So instead, you told me in front of all of them?" Draco longed to look away from the baleful reproach in his son's eyes, but he needed Scorpius to understand his sincerity.

"Scorpius, I'm not sure what I can say to you, to make this better. What I did today was inexcusable behaviour and I put myself and my own issues above you. I'm trying to be a better person, to be a good Father to you, but sometimes I forget." _I am _not_ like my own Father_. He thought wretchedly.

"Then let me go to Hogwarts." He pleaded softly.

"I'm sorry Scorpius, but you're not going."

"But why? They said they'd pay for me, if this is about money? Why can't I just go?" Draco sighed and wondered how on earth he could explain his incoherent jumble of reasons to his son and sound vaguely convincing. Of course it was mostly about the money, but how could he explain that by allowing Scorpius' Grandparents to pay for his schooling, their influence over him would inevitably grow, as Draco's relationship with him would perish. How to explain that without the boy's physical closeness and vitality reminding Draco of his purpose, then how would he keep on going?

"You remember at lunch, when you said the word, Mudblood?" Scorpius looked quickly down from Draco and fingered his blanket nervously. "How did that make you feel?" Draco could see the tears begin to well up again. He put his hand gently up to the boys shoulders and gave him a small squeeze. "Hey, shush, let's stop all of that. Just be honest with me." Scorpius let out a shuddering breath.

"Horrible." He whispered. Draco felt a tiny surge of relief.

"Why?"

"Mum hated it when people said it. She hated people being mean about muggles and muggle borns. I miss her so much still. I forgot that she didn't want me to be like that..." He trailed off, one of his small fingers stroking the photo of his Mother's smiling face.

"Please don't feel bad, Scorp. It's understandable to get caught up in what people are saying around us, particularly people you admire and love like your Grandparents." Draco paused and tried to word what he wanted to say carefully. "When your Mother and I had you, we made a decision to raise you differently to how we had been brought up. I grew up thinking that I was better than witches and wizards with muggle parents, despite being confronted by clear evidence once I got to school that I was wrong. The woman that everyone today was calling a mudblood, was none other than the brightest witch in our school, despite her parents being muggles. It's because of her that I am even with you today." Draco smiled at his son's sign of surprise. "If she hadn't stood up at my trial and told the jury that I wasn't completely bad, then I would still have a lot longer to serve in Azkaban. Her and her friend stood up for me when all of my pureblood friends had abandoned me." There was silence for a few moments while this information was digested. Draco could see Scorpius' mind working and knew what was coming.

"What did you do Dad? Why were you in jail? Was it to do with The Dark Lord? No one ever talks about it." Draco swallowed and automatically ran his finger up his shirt sleeve to touch the skin still disfigured by the burnt scar of the dark mark. They rarely spoke about his time in prison and especially not his reasons for going in, but tonight was a night for honesty.

"Yes it was. I got mixed up in a group of dark wizards who believed to such an extent of their superiority of pure blood over that of muggle borns, that we were willing to go to terrible and extreme lengths to prove it."

"Did you ever kill anyone?" Scorpius asked quietly, lying perfectly still and staring up with those large pale eyes. Draco shook his head and his son relaxed slightly.

"No, but I was put in a position where it was expected of me. Those thoughts - the ones of blood superiority and mudbloods, is where it all started out. If I hadn't been surrounded by people telling me that I was superior because I was a _Malfoy_ then I would have ended up on a very different path. Do you understand where I am going with this?"

"You don't want me to be like you?" He replied slowly. Draco smiled gently.

"If I send you off to Hogwarts and you go into Slytherin like you've always wanted then what will happen when your new friends are bullying muggle borns. Will you stand up for them?" Scorpius nodded furiously. "Scorp, we like to think that we'll do the right thing, but as we both found out today, it's far easier to allow yourself to be swept along in the moment. Of course I don't think you could be a bully, but after 7 years surrounded by those attitudes even the strongest person would be hard pressed to come out completely undamaged. I had a long time to think while I was in prison. I thought about everything that I had done wrong and how I could go about fixing it all when I got out. You were and still are my main priority and I won't allow your Mother's wishes for you to be for nothing. I want you to have the choices that I never had growing up. If you decide that you dislike muggles, for whatever reason, that's fine because at least it will be on your own terms. If you decide that you love muggles... Well, that's fine too." He added shortly.

"What about a muggle girlfriend?" Scorpius said with a tiny giggle. Draco snorted.

"Well, one thing at a time... Come on, drink your tea before it gets cold. Do you fancy a game of chess before supper?" Scorpius gave one last shuddering sigh and picked up his cup. Draco felt his body relax for the first time all day. They would be OK.

Draco awoke the next morning to the sound of talons tapping at his bedroom window. He blearily rubbed his eyes and sat up in the darkened room. He checked his watch, saw that it was already nine and yawned. At least he had managed a few hours sleep. It had already been light by the time he'd managed to calm his churning thoughts enough to drift off.

The tapping grew more urgent and he swore under his breath, before getting up and crossing the room to jerk open the blinds. He pushed open the window and a large eagle owl hopped through, not unlike the one he had when he was younger. He recognised at once as belonging to Blaise, but couldn't for imagine for a second what he wanted with him. Draco reached out and removed the bundle from the owls leg, but not before it lunged for his hand, drawing blood with dart of its nasty beak. "Fuck! I bet Zabini asked you to do that, you great brute! Get out!" He swiped at the owl with the letter and it swooped back out of his room. He decided that whatever Blaise had to say, it could wait until after coffee.

Draco left his room and crossed the living space into the small kitchen area. "Scorpius?" He called. There was no answer. He noticed a note on the table. In Scorpius' spidery, cramped handwriting it read: _Father, there is nothing for breakfast, so I_'_ve gone to Jakes._ Draco frowned and banged open the cupboards finding nothing but some old dried pasta, a stale box of crackers and some tinned vegetables. He sighed guiltily and reached for the jar of instant coffee, spooned some into a mug, added water from the tap and impatiently heated it up with his wand. He sat down heavily with the drink and opened the letter.

_Malfoy _

_I thought you may be interested in reading this little gem about your favourite muggle born witch._

_ Also, I couldn_'_t help but notice that in the madness of your departure yesterday, you left without your usual cheque. I just wanted to remind you that if ever you change your mind, a job at Zabini Ltd is always open._

_Yours, Blaise_

Draco snored as he sipped the unpleasant, already cooling coffee. _When hell freezes over will I be going to you for help._ He unfolded the other slip of paper which appeared to be a ripped out from a tabloid newspaper. _**Hermione Granger Off the Rails**_. The accompanying photograph was slightly out of focus and very badly lit but showed an obviously inebriated Granger lying back in the arms of a clearly muggle man on a grassy lawn. Granger's dress had ridden sluttily up her thighs and one of the man's hands rested on her legs idly. They lent together for a sloppy kiss before letting their heads fall back laughing. Draco raised his eyebrows. Well this was different. He began to read.

_Hermione Granger, new headmistress of the controversial school, Burbage High, showed this weekend just how far she was willing to embrace muggle culture. The man in question is rumored to be one of the many muggle ex boyfriends of Harry Potter and while it is known the two ex-heroes share a close friendship, what wasn't clear that this extended to sharing sexual partners. While Potter is well know for his debauched lifestyle and promiscuity, it was thought, until now, that Granger kept her distance from this darker side to his life. While aspersions in the past have been made at the influence that Potter has over those closest to him, we can now see the damaging effects that he has wrought. Granger notoriously broke off her engagement to the 3rd member of the 'Golden Trio,' Mr Ron Weasley nearly ten years ago. While the details were never made public it was imagined to be related to Potter's coming out and the wedge that drove between his friends and family. Ten years on and still single, how much more damage can Potter's influence do to Grangers life? Turning to alcohol, partying and muggle one-night-stands, how much further can she fall?_

Draco snorted. He felt mildly disturbed by the article and photo, but Potter a bad influence on Granger? If there was anyone who could not be influenced or swayed by other people, it was Hermione Granger. The picture was unfortunate, but he understood better than most about how the press could twist something innocent. To be honest it was almost a relief to see that Granger was as human as everyone else, even if her choice in muggle men was quite frankly, troubling. Granted, they'd all been there. When the loneliness became too much, and as shameful and degraded shagging muggles made Draco feel in retrospect, at least he hadn't been getting someone else's seconds. As for Harry Potter. Well, Draco felt more that a little contempt for the wizard. When Draco had discovered what Harry had chosen to do with his life - namely nothing, he had felt inexplicably disappointed. It was ridiculously really, considering how much he had hated Harry at school; he should be happy he had turned out to be such a loser.

At that moment, Scorpius burst through the door and Draco slid the paper back into the envelope. "Morning Father! Sorry I went out, I was really hungry and you looked really tired."

"What did you have at Jake's?"

"Pop tarts. Then we watched nickelodeon. Pokemon was on!" He chirped, flinging himself on the sofa. That sentence meant absolutely nothing to Draco.

"What is Pokemon?" He warily picked out of the three.

"It's this cartoon on TV about this boy called Ash who has these Pokemon, which are these cool animals that he keeps in little magic balls." In his enthusiasm the small boy began to gesticulate wildly, as if miming it out would help Draco understand what he meant. "When he gets into a dual, (which he does all the time,) instead of using a wand he gets his Pokemon out of the balls and does different kinds of magic through them, on to the other wizard's Pokemon until they faint! My favourite is Pikachu! I really want one..." He drifted off. "Hey you know, Jake's older sister has a baby and she can't get a job either, Dad."

"Oh right?" Draco smiled. He loved it when Scorpius tried to give him job hunting advice.

"Yeah, he said shes got this thing called 'benefits' which is what the government give people who can't get a job. It's actually money, so they don't die of hunger." He said it in an offhand way but Draco felt the familiar churn of guilt. It clashed horribly with his own empty stomach. Somehow he didn't feel like they'd be eligible for muggle welfare.

"We will not die of hunger Scorpius." He said with forced confidence. Scorpius glanced up and gave him an odd smile.

"I know that. Last week we watched Robin Hood. It's about a gang of foxes that steal from the rich and give to the poor." Scorpius went on slowly, as if calculating how his Dad would take what was coming. "Jake told me that's kind of what his older brother does, though they don't see him no more. I was thinking, with us being wizards, shouldn't all that be pretty easy? Can't you just magic some money off someone? I mean, someone who doesn't need it of course?"

"It's 'anymore', not, 'no more', Scorpius." He corrected before continuing; "So you're suggesting that we become wizarding master thieves? Sharing our illicitly gotten wares throughout the poor amongst our community?" Scorpius giggled and jumped up from the sofa.

"I could be your young apprentice!" he said enthusiastically. Draco laughed loudly.

"Scorpius, I don't think turning to crime is the answer. Using magic on muggles like that is a serious offence. I've already been to jail once and I don't intend on returning. That is probably where Jakes older brother is by the way. You should tell him incase he gets any ideas to follow in his footsteps." Scorpius looked uneasily at his hands as he slumped back on the sofa. Little did he know how close he had gotten to the truth. Draco wasn't sure how many more times he could confundus their landlord when he came to collect the rent, before he started to notice the irregularities in his accounts. "Come on, let's get ready to leave. Burbage High is all the way over on the south of the river and you know how long it takes me to do the underground."

"Do we _have_ to go?"

"Yes! Now get in the shower!"


	5. Monday Morning

**Disclaimer: I don't make any money off this. JK owns EVERYTHING**

Chapter Five - Monday Morning

Hermione Granger lay in her bed and glared at the darkened ceiling, willing her mind to stop its endless cycle through the days awful events.

Things had started out normally enough for a Monday morning. She had risen at six thirty, gone for a brief swim at the local leisure centre, dressed sensibly in her new lightweight grey skirt suit, had a healthy breakfast of muesli, greek yogurt and blueberries, and was beginning to review her timetable for the big day when the owls had begun to arrive. The first was from Orla Quirke. Hermione's new acquisition to the Burbage team was a kind of public relations expert and spokesperson of the school. _Hermione, please floo or call me, it_'_s urgent. _Hermione's mind flashed through the possibilities; Press conference rescheduled? Parents dropping out of today's open day? Had the school burnt down? She tracked down her phone and called Orla. It wasn't good, at all.

"The Daily Post, page four, we've got you in a compromising position with a muggle man. Aspersions cast on your judgement, personal life, taste in men, et cetera, et cetera. Any ideas? Big party this weekend? Were you just drinking?" Orla was professional, composed and once Hermione got over her shock and thought back over this moment, she would be eternally grateful for her appointment. She had headhunted the ex-Ravenclaw earlier that summer from a muggle marketing firm and had dragged her back into the magical world. People had thought it was over the top needing a P.R. expert for a school, but its public image would be its undoing unless they managed to turn that around.

"It was Harry's birthday. What's going on?"

"The Post have done an exposé over a photo of you taken at Mr Potter's birthday on Saturday. Most of it seems to be based on gossip and so we might be able to get them for defamation. How much is true? Did you have sex?"

"Orla! It's not even eight! Please slow down, I need to see this article. Can you email it to me?"

"Already done, check your computer." Hermione shakily opened up her desk drawer, pulled out the old Toshiba laptop and plugged it in. She rarely used it if she could help it, but Orla preferred to operate in the 21st century. _God, it would have been quicker just to floo to hers and pick it up,_ she thought impatiently as it clunked to life. _Wifi... email... There! Oh my FUCKING God. _

"Hermione, Are you still there?" Her heart thundered in her ears as she scanned the screen. On first glance it was a disaster. She looked completely off her face and the way he was groping her thighs... And the writing... Of _course_ it had to mention Ron. Well actually, apart from that, what was written was such garbage that it almost definitely took away from authenticity of the photo. Hermione took a deep breathe and tried to suppress her initial hysterical reaction into something more coherent.

"Yeah, I am. No, we didn't have sex, yes of course I was just drinking. We just kissed. I mean, he was _gay_!What do we do?" And they began to outline a plan: Be dignified, make no comment, eventually turn this to their advantage. Hermione wasn't too sure about this last point. She suspected it was more something she'd just had to ride out. She'd been watching Harry do it for years; that is until he found he was at perfect liberty to bite back with the law on his side. The press tended not to go for him so much any more.

The next hour was spent receiving further owls; ones from members of the board, various governors; even the chairman of the governors wrote to her demanding an explanation. She answered them all in the same vein: _It was a private party, we don_'_t know who is responsible though we suspect who is trying to discredit us._ (who else but the WIP?) _It is complete conjecture on their part and we will be pursuing legal advice. Today_'_s events will still go on. Please let me take this opportunity to ensure you do not need to worry about my ability to react professionally to this matter. _Hermione was eternally thankful that most of the wizards she dealt with were not like Orla, and still preferred to communicate via quill and parchment. She didn't think she'd have been able to keep the tremor from her voice if she'd had to defend herself on the phone.

It was when the howlers from reactionary parents began to arrive that Hermione decided it was time she got to school. She had planned on taking the muggle underground in and arrive publicly, but that was now out of the question. She collected her papers into her new leather briefcase, nervously smoothed her hair into a bun and practiced smiling into the mirror. She looked frantic. She scowled instead and stepped into the fireplace, and called out the name of the school.

The founders of Burbage High had struggled for a year before finally finding a suitable location in London for their magical school. One that was easily accessible by public transport, yet secluded enough for casual observers not to witness any suspicious goings on. It had seemed like an impossible task. The area that included Diagon Alley was not an option - it was already bursting at the seams and expanding it to fit in a school that could cater for up to 500 students was beyond the capability of even the most highly advanced magic. Even expanding a muggle building like St Mungos, wouldn't have worked, due to the necessity of outdoor space.

Eventually and surprisingly, one such site came about in overcrowded muggle London. This was a result of the inevitable 'regeneration' that was sweeping through the poorer parts of the capital at that time and the demolition of _problem_ neighbourhoods. The Heygate estate was such a place, and it was notorious for its high levels of crime, its social depravation, and its ugly, Neo-Brutalist architecture, based, like so many buildings built in the seventies, on misplaced Corbusian ideas. The land was arranged to be sold to investors and developers and so the residents were loudly and rudely evicted from their council owned flats and social housing and on to supposedly fresher pastures. However, after a fanfare of publicity and hype over the future gentrification of the area, (and, more importantly, it's predicted rise of value) the scheduled date of demolition was quietly postponed and strangely, the British public soon forgot about it all.

Today, if a muggle takes a bus east down the A201, they will still see the monstrous main tower block running along the side of the road. Rows stacked upon rows of concrete; graffitied, dilapidated and oppressive. It would have a horrible feel to it, as if scary, terrible things happened there. Luckily for them, they would soon forget that they'd even seen it at all. However, if a witch or wizard were to walk through the gates, and past the main tower block they would find children, trees, playing fields and the charming, eclectic architecture of Burbage High, built amongst the protective outer buildings; their height offering complete privacy. It was a win for all involved. The muggle government could brush the controversy surrounding the re-development, under the carpet. They also got an amount of influence over wizarding Britain - something that was _essential_ after the amount of casualties their last war had caused. And, of course the wizards got their new school.

Hermione always thought, when feeling particularly whimsical, that it was almost poetic how a place historically seeped in so much deprivation, could help nurture the birth of a new equal wizarding society. It was with this in her heart that she stepped out of the fireplace and into her small, yet homely office and prepared to fight for the day.

The scheduled press conference at ten was, of course, a bloodbath. What was meant to be an opportunity to formally introduce herself to the magical public as a Headmistress and outline where she was planning on taking the school, turned into an inevitable barrage of questions and demands about _that_ photo, her relationships, her friendship with Harry, and with some reporters barely able to disguise their statements as questions, and that cast doubt on her very suitability for the position.

"All this fuss, just over a bloody _photo!_ I mean, this is turning out to be utterly ridiculous!" She fumed in her office to an equally harried looking Orla after they'd managed to escape back into safety. "It doesn't even show anything! It's just a kiss! This is just because the man is a muggle isn't it? People's knee jerk reactions are so fucking typically _backwards_." Hermione's assistant, Laura, scurried in at this point with tea and biscuits.

"Come on Hermione, let's have a cuppa, take five minutes and put this behind us. The parents are due to arrive at eleven and if we don't pull ourselves together and act like nothing is wrong they will know something is up." Orla placated. "Who even reads the 'Daily Post'? It's utter tabloid trash."

"Apparently, everyone." She snapped back.

"No one with any sense will pay it any attention. By tomorrow all anyone will be talking about is how excited they are to send their child here. So, we've got your introduction in the hall at eleven. Followed by a further talk to the muggle parents." Hermione smiled at Orla's attempt to rally her with a review of the day's schedule. "Is Simon's speech up to scratch?"

"Yes, it's very informative." Hermione replied. "I've reviewed it extensively. Brief overview of the structure of the magical world, what being a witch or wizard actually means for their child, including technically, culturally and to a lesser extent, socially; the core magical subjects we teach, career options to their children, and so on and so forth. Honest yet without being excessively sincere."

"Good, we don't want to scare them off." Orla said. Hermione laughed ruefully, taking a long sip of tea. "Then the tours will take place around the different departments, and of course, scheduled interviews with the confirmed students and their parents." Hermione nodded in affirmation. She only had ten scheduled so far. The interviews were not a selection tool, but in fact an attempt to get to know the new student, their current level of knowledge of both magic and muggle subjects, and she hoped, so they could see her as someone approachable and within reach. The whole open day had been her pet project and these interviews were an extension of that. When she had been promoted it was the first thing she began to organise; why should anyone entrust her with their children's education if they haven't even been introduced? She checked the clock, it was 10:45. She gulped down the rest of her tea.

"Right, well I'm going to set up in the Hall."

"Good luck. You'll be fantastic. Just forget about this morning and focus on the rest of the day. Don't let them get what they want. You know what I mean." Hermione smiled grimly. Yes she did. There was absolutely no way Mirage and his cronies would take this from her now. Especially not over such a graceless attempt on her reputation. She was Hermione Granger and she was made for this job. She had never failed at anything and if she could be made headmistress of a school at 32, there was no way a bunch of backwards idiots could stand in her way.

The seating in the hall hadn't been full as she'd hoped. But she estimated there had been about one hundred people in total. Despite a few instances of latecomers and even a couple sneaking in towards the end, she had managed to get through the talk without incident. Although she had started out shakily, by the end she was in her stride and she got a loud round of applause at the end. Hermione desperately hoped she had managed to sound impassioned enough, without bordering on fervent, and with enough information without being dry. She'd even managed to get a few titters out of the audience, which was a massive achievement as Hermione knew she always came across as far too sincere to ever be considered funny. As she lay in bed that night, mind running over her words and the memories of the attentive faces in the audience, at least the success of her speech was something from the day she could be pleased with.

The same could not be further from the truth for the inevitable meeting with Draco Malfoy and his son, Scorpius. In the whirlwind of drama the article had caused, she had almost forgotten what was coming that afternoon. The previous interviews had gone without incident: she was pleased to note the children seemed even excited about September. As expected they were mostly muggle borns, with a couple of half bloods between them. None with any previous magical knowledge, only a handful of instances of accidental magic for each. Most had received Hogwarts letters, but Hermione thought all were choosing Burbage no doubt due to the latter not offering their child a scholarship. Scorpius Malfoy was the sixth interview to take place and at exactly 2pm him and his father entered her office. She wondered wildly if he had seen the article and desperately tried to push away the image of her drunk and flashing her knickers, as she stood up and offered her hand. She tried to project a cool, confident authority, and smiled.

Draco Malfoy had changed a great deal over the twelve years she had seen him last. Gone was his easy saunter and his casual arrogance that resulted from an upbringing seeped in privilege. His tall stature was reduced by a slight stoop to his shoulders, and his white blonde hair was thinning slightly at the temples. His face had the same, slightly pointed, chiseled features, but without either the smirk or disgusted look she associated with him plastered across them, he looked slightly gaunt and very tired. Hermione knew that Azkaban was a very different place to what it had been when they were younger. The dementors were still present, but more as a security measure than as a sustained use of torture and punishment. However, long exposure even at at that level evidently still had a lasting effect. Unexpectedly he was dressed in faded black trousers, worn leather shoes, and a long sleeved, dark green pullover and could easily have passed for a muggle. Hermione didn't think she had ever seen him out of wizarding robes. The effect was disconcerting.

Although his body language seemed to be telling her that he was as nervous about this meeting as she was, his hand was un-expectantly warm and dry as he firmly shook her offered one. Hermione cringed internally at how clammy her own hand must have felt.

"Mr Malfoy." She said, stiffly, her stomach filled with nerves.

"Afternoon, Granger. This is my son, Scorpius Malfoy. Shake hands, Scorpius." He still had that confident drawl; that lazy, aristocratic way of speaking that Hermione had not encountered in a long time. Scorpius stepped out from behind his father, stuck his hand out unwillingly and snatched it back after a brief touch. His eyes remained glued to the floor as they took a seat. He looked remarkably similar to Draco, only with more of a gentle roundness to his face that she guessed was from his mother. However, despite the resemblance, if she had seen him out of context she would never have guessed he was a wizard. He was comfortably wearing a grey hoodie, dark blue tracksuit bottoms and well worn Adidas trainers.

"Nice to meet you, Scorpius." The boy didn't answer. Draco pursed his lips. "My name is Hermione Granger and I'll be your headmistress while you're at Burbage. Thank you for coming today, I've been very excited to meet you." She attempted to engage him, and fought the urge to perceive his continued silence and churlishness as insolence. "How have you been, Mr Malfoy?" She asked, sounding awkwardly formal. His expression was unreadable.

"Fine. Thank you. Yourself?"

"That's great, I mean, I've been great." She said clumsily. Could she see a slight smirk playing across his face? She felt herself redden and waded on back to more comfortable waters, breaking the awkward silence. "Scorpius, this interview is a chance for us to get to know each other, before school starts. I'll be teaching a few of your classes of course, but this can be an opportunity for you to ask me any questions."

"You'll be teaching?" Malfoy said. Hermione looked from the boy, who was _still _refusing to make eye contact, to his father and frowned. This had been covered in her speech.

"Yes, just a few of the first year's core subjects: transfiguration, potions, science. Of course, I covered this earlier...?" She said falteringly. Malfoy glanced nervously at his son and cleared his throat.

"We were, held up, and missed most of what you said." Of course they had been the late ones to enter. Probably didn't feel the need to arrive on time. Typical -

"Dad got us lost coming out of the station." Scorpius said sullenly to his lap. Hermione looked at him in surprise.

"You didn't use the floo entrance?"

"We aren't connected to the floo network unfortunately. Scorpius is great on the underground usually. It's me that struggles." Draco said, sheepishly. Scorpius rolled his eyes.

"Father, it's soo easy. Just the Central line down and change at Bank on to the Northern Line to Elephant and Castle. I mean, the exit was quite confusing with the big roundabout but we found it eventually." Hermione wasn't sure what to say.

"Scorpius is very intelligent for his age." Draco told her, obviously noticing her incredulity and giving her the most genuine, sincere smile she had ever seen on his face. It made a startling difference. She blinked and gave him a cautious one back.

"We often find that children have a far greater ability to adapt to change and embrace new technologies than adults. I mean, how else would you explain previously muggle children suddenly being able to function in a magical society?"

"It's true!" Scorpius said, outraged. He had certainly perked up. "Father won't even let us have a TV!" Hermione looked at Malfoy and couldn't help smile a little at how uncomfortable he looked.

"Well, we don't _need_ one. I don't understand what the point of them is!" He protested. Hermione suppressed a laugh. This whole interview was becoming very strange. Draco Malfoy defending himself against buying a television!? Scorpius scowled.

"But all we do is _read_ and play games."

"What's your favourite book, Scorpius?" Hermione said, seeing an opportunity to engage the boy.

"The Lord of the Rings trilogy." He finally met her eyes. They were large, blue and sincere. Hermione was again, pleasantly surprised. That was far beyond the usual capabilities for a child his age. And a muggle book no less! Now that was very interesting. She beginning to get the impression that Scorpius had for more potential than he wanted to let on. She wondered briefly who introduced him to those books; surely it couldn't have been _Malfoy?_

"Who's your favourite character?"

"Well, Gandalf obviously, since he's a wizard. But I also like Aragorn, and Samwise Gamgee."

"Not Frodo?" Hermione asked. Scorpius shrugged.

"He's alright, but not without Sam. He gets influenced by the Ring too easily. Sam's the real Hero."

"Well, you'll be glad to know Scorpius what here at Burbage we have an English lesson once a week where we read and learn about books, plays and poetry. Things written by both wizard and muggle authors like Tolkien." She smiled and went on to her first listed question. "So, what do you both think of the school? Did you go on a tour?"

"S'alright." Scorpius shrugged. "It's not Hogwarts." Draco frowned at him. There was another awkward silence.

"Well, we may not be as impressive as Hogwarts, but I do believe we do certain things better." She said, carefully. "To start with you won't be slapped with a label from the minute you walk in in the form of a Hogwarts house. We think that sorting before you are fully developed does damaging things to children's idea of their own identity. Of course it suits some people, but for others it may force them to either conform to something they may not want, or else publicly rebel, which not many can do." Draco nodded imperceptibly. Scorpius however, frowned.

"But I want to be in Slytherin..." He muttered almost too quietly for Hermione to hear. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Scorpius, _please_, can we not go through this again." Scorpius folded his arms and scowled back into his lap. Hermione fiddled with her pen and observed the two bicker without offering her thoughts: that Scorpius would be at a massive disadvantage if he were sorted into Slytherin with a name like Malfoy. If that was any part of the reason just why Malfoy was sending her son here, then she could certainly applaud that. Still, it didn't fully explain things.

"And of course, we are completely inclusive to children of all backgrounds. It doesn't matter how much money you've got, or how magical you are. We believe everyone should have a chance." She said, earnestly. "If it's okay, I'd like to ask you a few questions, just to understand where your education level is currently." Scorpius nodded. "Have you attended any primary school, or been given any academic tuition?" Scorpius looked ready to answer, but Malfoy spoke up first.

"I've been tutoring him for the past couple of years. Just the usual basic stuff really; an introduction to potion prep and a little practical, astronomy, arithmetic, penmanship and writing skills, history, Latin and magical theory." He gave his son a meaningful look that Hermione almost missed as she took notes. Purely magical theory? It wasn't unusual for children with a magical parent to arrive with more than a little than just a theoretical grasp on magic. The trace didn't work if you borrowed your parent's wand, after all. And that was Malfoys idea of basic? No wonder the pure bloods had been miles ahead at the start of Hogwarts.

"And what about any of the following subjects: geography, science, music, modern languages, art and design and religious education?"

"Well, I can speak French, and I like drawing?" Scorpius said, cautiously. Hermione beamed at him.

"That's brilliant, Scorpius. Well you can chose between either German or Spanish if you would like to learn another language while you're here." Well, it wasn't quite brilliant; he'd be quite behind the other students as nearly all had attended a muggle primary school. If he was as intelligent as Hermione was starting to suspect however, catching up wouldn't be a problem.

"What I would like to know," Draco drawled, as Scorpius looked thoughtfully at Hermione, "Is why are these muggle subjects taught, when they are receiving a supposedly magical education." She had expected this question and launched into her prepared answer.

"We teach 'muggle' subjects here because we believe they are a really valuable aspect of everybody's education; I don't even see why they need to be labeled as 'muggle' as here we try to incorporate them into the more traditional wizarding subjects. We teach music, literature and art because we believe in the importance of creativity. Geography and the sciences because even though we can use magic and manipulate reality, it doesn't excuse us from learning about how the world works. I believe over time wizards and witches have become somewhat lazy." Malfoy glowered at this point and began to look more like his old self. Hermione continued quickly, "I mean, if you can use a spell that heats water to boiling point, then what's the point of understanding just how heat conduction works? What is it that causes heat Scorpius?" Scorpius looked uncertainly at his Dad.

"Magic?"

"Well a spell is the tool in this case, but it's actually energy. If you look at water _very_ close up, you will see that it is made up millions of things that are too small to be visible to our eyes, called molecules." The two Malfoys gave her blank looks. She sighed internally and plowed on, committing herself to explain this to the end. "Just like when you look at a field from a distance, the surface looks solid green. However, as you get closer and closer, you can make out that the field is actually made up of individual blades of grass. Those are like the molecules that make up water." She winced slightly at her clumsy analogy and the bemused look on the faces of both father and son. "So, just like you and I can walk around this room due to our energy, the water molecules are flowing around due to their energy. Heat energy is transferred from your wand to the molecules and they start to move around faster, just like you might if you've had too much sugar. The fast molecules give off heat and start banging into the slow cold molecules; transferring some of their energy across, like a chain. Eventually all the molecules are moving fast and giving off heat. The water will feel hot to your touch. Eventually, if you continued to heat it to boiling point, the molecules would have so much energy that they float away. That is how steam occurs. " Hermione stopped and took in a deep breathe, aware that her nerves had caused her to ramble. She was relieved to see that she had held Scorpius' attention; if the inquisitive gaze he was giving her was anything to go on.

"The point of this little muggle science lesson was...?" Malfoy however, looked incredibly bored. Hermione felt herself flush. She _knew_ she'd gone on a bit too long...

"The point being, if a wizard can understand how things work on a molecular level, then we can use this knowledge to really further our understanding and advance our ability with magic." She said, feeling flustered.

"But is it really necessary? I mean, we've been doing just fine without it. I mean, muggles have had to come up with that as they didn't have a choice. It was that, or remain completely primitive." Hermione tensed at his choice of word.

"If you look at the technological advances Muggles have made over the past one hundred years, compared to wizards, it is absolutely shocking. There is nothing _primitive _about them. Did you know that the muggles have put an intelligent robot on Mars, _planet_ Mars, which as we speak is sending us photos of it's environment, investigating its climate and geology, and whether it could even support life?"

"Which, wouldn't even be necessary if the muggles weren't hell bent on destroying our own planet?" He smirked at Hermione's stumped look. "You may think we're pureblood idiots Granger, but any idiot is capable of reading a muggle newspaper every once in a while. As far as I can see, muggles are self destructive and as ignorant as you pretend to be wise. These technological advances you speak of have done nothing but create whole multitude of parasitic industries devoted to raping the earth for materials, to make into useless gadgets, for muggles to use once and then forget about. TVs so they can forget how to use their brains, cars so they can forget how to walk and get fat, and a whole plethora of shit that does god knows what." Hermione sat still, rocked by this sudden outburst. Scorpius was subdued once again and was watching his Father, silently. "You seem so enamoured with muggle culture, but what about wizarding culture? If I send my son to your school, are you going to be teaching more than just how to heat up water with either a spell or an electric kettle? What about any of the important things that show what it means to be a wizard? Our culture and history?" His gaze was intense and his smirk was scornful and Hermione felt a flush begin to rise up her neck at his insinuations.

"A culture based on the obsolete rituals and traditions of pure-blood wizards?"

"There is far more to our heritage than that, but of course you wouldn't want to know or even appreciate any of it." He said, very condescendingly.

"Why would I? This is a culture that until recently would have rejected me even being in a position like this. That had no structure in place to allow for a true democratic system, instead having a ministry that was run by inherited titles, privilege, and corruption? A culture that represses intelligent beings such as elves and goblins and imposes slavery into their very psyche, whilst you proclaim to be a higher species?" Her voice shook slightly as she felt herself losing control. Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"How can you pretend that muggle culture is so much better? That there is no prejudice or corruption. Are you so naive? Democracy isn't a perfect system. The muggles are so stupid they can't help but vote for people that aid to their very destruction. Their priorities are all based on greed, power and materialism." He spoke slowly and with all the confidence and arrogance of someone who knows their opinion is the right one. She felt a spike of anger at the way he just sat there, calmly belittling them with one generalised swipe.

"And yours aren't, Malfoy? What else could you blame for half of societies absolute devotion to a hateful, racist ideology, that meant you nearly followed a raving lunatic to the grave? If it wasn't to grasp power back from the imagined threat of people like me." Her voice was finally raised, her hands were shaking and heart pummelling. At that Malfoy rose from his chair. She'd finally got a reaction off him; gone was the pretence of detached cool. Instead, his face was twisted in anger. He leant in, hands on the desk, face close to hers. She had to use every ounce of control not to pull back. Even in the heat of emotion, like a sudden drenching of water, she realised she had gone too far.

"You _dare_ bring that up around my son, you mud-" He stopped abruptly, the word hanging between them, incomplete. He jerkily pulled back with a glance down at Scorpius as if suddenly remembering he was there. Hermione remembered too, and felt a spike of panic that she had said those things in front of a pupil. To his father. Suddenly Malfoy shut down, seeming indifferent again, cold. "I am leaving, Scorpius. You finish your interview, I'm sure Miss Granger has some more questions for you," he drawled and looked up at her, eyes full of something terrifying. "After all, while she is free to act as _disgracefully_ as she wants in her private time, and even though we have seen evidence to the contrary today, I _trust_ her to be entirely professionally in regards to educating the future generation of witches and wizards."

With that, he swept from the room, leaving Scorpius to gaze behind him. His eyes looked shiny and his small pointy chin was creasing. Hermione felt like she was also close to tears. _Disgracefully? He had known about the article, of course he had!_ she thought wildly. She felt absolutely horrified, not just by what he had said, but also by how she had acted. She had been completely unprofessional. No, worse than that. She had acted with such hysterical lack of control that she was surprised he hadn't said worse. Of course Malfoy was the one to provoke her. What was he even doing here? She sat down dazedly, the blood still pounding in her ears, and looked at the boy who was also seemed to be struggling to control his own emotions. Hermione felt dreadful.

"I'm sorry about that." She offered lamely.

"I don't think he meant it." Scorpius told her quietly. "About calling you a..."

"Perhaps. At this school, you have to understand that if you are caught uttering that word you will be instantly disciplined, maybe even suspended and eventually expelled." She said, shakily trying to grasp back some semblance of control. Scorpius nodded minutely.

"My Dad told me that you were the best witch at Hogwarts, even though your parents were muggles. I thought he liked you, that's why he wanted me to go here." Hermione suddenly felt wretched.

The interview continued in a bleak fashion, Scorpius giving non committal answers to all the standard questions, Hermione barely listening to them, as the argument with Malfoy whirled through her head. As time went on and the white hot anger and indignation left Hermione, it was replaced by the awful, empty, feeling that maybe, she had been in the wrong. Ridiculously, she didn't even agree with what she had been saying. She found wizarding traditions fascinating, and was even thinking of introducing a class here that taught them. Strangely, what Malfoy had been saying even rang true. Most of the time she was disgusted by the things she heard on the muggle news, although, she reminded herself, that they were human mistakes, not just _muggle_ ones. It was just that in the presence of Malfoy's terrible smirk she had felt sixteen again and that had brought back all the old feelings of not being quite good enough, of not fitting in and of it being totally out of her control. All she'd wanted to do was to wipe that look off his face. Malfoy had even known about her drunken muggle kiss, but didn't use it against her until the last moment after she had brought up his death eater history. _Why_ had she done that? In front of his son! He might not even have known about his father's past.

Later that night she regaled the episode to Harry in his kitchen word for word over tea. She had memorised the interview just by way of obsessively re-living it in her mind. Harry seemed almost speechless.

"Well I'm thinking that you may have started to fuck things up when you called wizards _lazy._" He said, slowly.

"But they are!" She wailed

"But Hermione, you don't say that to someone like him. Remember his upbringing- even without all the blood purity crap. You need to have to carefully chose the words you use. You can be too... blunt, sometimes. I'm sorry." She nodded, squirming yet again as she re-lived the conversation.

"What was he like? I mean, before you drove him out of your office?" she winced.

"Different... Very different. He clearly loves his son a lot. It was strange to see them together. Malfoy was so, human around him. I actually saw some genuine emotion. Scorpius was even teasing him about not having a TV and getting lost on the underground, it was quite, sweet."

"Sweet?"

"Well, it was nice to see that he's turned out OK."

"Despite clearly still being a bigot and nearly calling you a mudblood?"

Hermione shrugged. "Like I said, he didn't really call me that, and from what Scorpius said after, I'm not sure he still has the same views on muggleborns as he used to. I mean, he clearly thinks muggles are dirt, but I think he only called me a mudblood as a reaction to what I had said to him. He wouldn't be sending his son to us if he did still think we're beneath him."

"And he didn't instantly bring up the Daily Post piece to belittle or to use against you?" Harry asked. Hermione shook her head. "Wow. Well I guess he has changed. I still don't understand why he's not sending Scorpius to Hogwarts." Harry added, pensively.

"Well I'd be surprised if he's is still signed up by tomorrow. Oh Harry, I really was horrible. I feel absolutely terrible over the whole thing. Malfoy must hate me for making him look like that in front of his son." She hid her face in her hands as Harry gazed at her.

"Why are you so worked up over this, Hermione? I understand you care about making a good impression on Scorpius, but you don't need to see Malfoy again after this. Unless..." He petered out. "You like him, don't you?"

"What?" Hermione whipped her head up and stared at him.

"This is why you're so upset that you fucked everything up. You wouldn't have cared in the past. Malfoy is being Malfoy after all. But you're genuinely upset!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" She snapped. "I'm upset because I managed to be provoked entirely too easily. I'm in my thirties, I'm not a teenager! I should be better than this. Even if all the trauma of this morning can be used as an excuse, I should be able to keep control and be professional. I'm going to come up against far worse people than Malfoy." She lapsed into silence and missed Harry's raised eyebrows as the memory of Malfoy's sincere smile of fatherly pride slid into focus, unbidden. '_He told me that you were the best witch at Hogwarts'. _And then she looked down to the lurid, drunken photo of her in the paper that lay between their cups of tea on the table and felt shame engulf her again. She slammed her hand down on it with a wail. "Get this fucking thing away from me!" Harry hurriedly prised the paper from beneath her hand and banished it with a flick of his wand.

"There! All gone. And I'm going to speak to my lawyers about it in the morning, Hermione. Again, I'm so so sorry about that. I just can't believe that they managed to get to us at my own party. I trusted everyone there. I guess I was too naive to think that even my friends couldn't be immune from the right amount of gold from the WIP." Harry said morosely, for about the fifth time that evening. Hermione waved her hand.

"It's not your fault, it's mine. I should have known better than to lose my guard like that, particularly now I'm in this position. Luckily this time, the important people seem to have forgiven me for it. Apart from a few idiotic parents, but if they think they can do better home educating their child than I can, then good luck."

"But you should be able to have a bit of fun when you want it!" He protested. She shrugged and stood.

"Maybe, maybe not. We've all got to grow up eventually." She said pragmatically. He grunted in reply. Hermione gave his shoulder a pat and stretched. "I better head off. Got another big day tomorrow. We actually managed to pull it off today, despite everything! Got a load more kids signed up, which is fantastic. More interviews have been scheduled. I'm so relieved, Harry. I've got about forty kids due to start in September now. I'm feeling really good."

However, as she later lay in the dark, staring up at that ceiling, she did not feel good at all. She was so angry. How dare Harry imply that she liked him; to reduce how she was feeling to something akin to a teenage crush. She knew Draco Malfoy. Just because Azkaban and having a child may have mellowed him out, it didn't change who he was - a bigot. She remembered the hatred in his eyes he had directed at her this afternoon and had to force her own face not to screw itself up at the thought of it. The bewildering cycle of emotions flashed through her on a loop: Shame, guilt, anger, outrage. Outrage that Harry could imply she was that childish. Outrage that Malfoy could make her feel like that in _her _office, at _her _school... Like an overemotional teenager, rising to the bait like they were at school themselves. And then came the wash of guilt and sadness. Hermione knew she was upset that she hurt him but because for a moment, she had seen something in him that was so purely happy, and that shone with such pride for his son, and she had managed to ruin it. After everything they had gone through, all those years ago on opposing side of a war, they had managed to share a moment that transcended all of that. She had known for a split second he had changed. And then, she had fucked it up, with her uncontrollable mouth. _I thought he liked you, _Scorpius had said... And then the wretched shame. Oh god, saying those things in front of his _son. _After eight hours of the same jerky, disordered thoughts, things had become so confused and muddled, she barely knew what she was thinking anymore. This was something completely unfamiliar to Hermione. She buried her head in her pillow and screamed.


	6. Familiar thoughts

**Familiar Thoughts**

Draco stood at the bar and ordered another glass of whiskey. "And what will you have?" he smiled down at the girl, who smiled back, coyly.

"A double vodka and lemonade." The woman on the bar poured their drinks and Draco followed his companion to a booth. The Muggle pub they were in clearly had not been refurbished in years and had the atmosphere of somewhere that had been left behind by society at some point in the eighties. The dated red patterned carpet was faded and slightly sticky, as were the dark varnished wooden tables. The walls were clad in wooden panels. Placed here and there were framed printed reproductions of insipid landscapes. The place smelt faintly of body odour, stale smoke and disinfectant, as though the smells from the weekend still had not been aired out. It was exactly the type of shit hole Draco liked best.

He surveyed the girl before him and tried not to feel too disappointed that this was who he was to bring home that night. She was pretty in a common, slightly horsey way, with too much makeup on large dark eyes and teeth that stuck out slightly, as if her jaw was too small to contain them. Despite clearly being in her twenties, she seemed jaded and a bit rough, which suited him very well. She must be, to be out drinking on a Monday night in a place like this. She licked her lips, nervously, as if sensing his scrutiny and hoping she would be up to scratch. She dragged a hand through crudely highlighted hair, attempting to liven it up a bit, and took a sip of her drink. Draco did the same and decided to lay it on thick. A girl like her would not be able to believe her luck.

"So, Melanie," he drawled, emphasising her name, almost lovingly. "What do you do?"

She gave an inane giggle. "I work in a supermarket, on checkouts. It's alright," she shrugged. "Pays the bills."

"Indeed? And what would you like to be doing?" Asking girls about themselves always got results, if he acted like he was actually interested in their pedestrian, Muggle lives.

She giggled again. "Well, I know it sounds stupid, but I always wanted to be a singer. I've tried for _X-factor_ a couple of times. You may have even seen me on telly one year! I made it to the first round." She smirked.

"Fascinating. You must be really good," Draco replied, injecting enthusiasm where really, he felt a great deal of pity. They both took another drink.

"What's man like you doing in a place like this, anyway? Don't really get your sort round here."

He shrugged and gave her one of his winning smiles. "I like the company."

"You're so mysterious."

"I do try." Draco smirked at his lie. He barely had to try at all; girls like her practically threw themselves at him. The voice, the clothes and the air of glamour he knew he still had attracted them like moths to a flame. It was sickening, really. It was so easy in a place like this, where being with him, even for a night, was the only chance they would get to fulfil a fantasy of being a Somebody. By the time they arrived in his dingy old flat and realised his duplicity - that he was as worse off as them - it was too late.

"Draco is an unusual name. What does it mean?"

"It's an old tradition of the family. We're named after the constellations. Draco is the great dragon that revolves eternally around Ursa Minor and Polaris, banished there by the goddess Athena." He smirked at her wide-eyed look of awe.

"Like horoscopes? I'm a Libra! I can usually tell what people are, astrology's a talent of mine. Are you an ... Aries?" she guessed.

Draco had heard of this Muggle branch of Divination. It sounded like complete garbage. He decided to humour her and opened his own eyes wide in a look of mock surprise.

"I am! How could you tell!?"

She smiled and winked at him. "Well, you're generous." She picked up her drink and wiggled it at him. "Independent - you've been here alone all night."

Draco knew she had been checking him out all evening; that was why he knew she was a safe bet. "And courageous," she added, as he grimaced internally. "However, I can also see your weaknesses."

"Do tell?" Draco raised his eyebrows. He was interested, despite himself.

"You're impulsive." With this she delicately laid a taloned finger on his chest and leaned in close. She smelt of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke. "And impatient," she added in a whisper in his ear.

Draco felt himself turned on. She was certainly bold, usually he had to make the first move. He was surprised they had arrived at this point so quickly. Or perhaps she was just drunker or more desperate than she looked. Either way, she was right: he was feeling frustrated enough to want to get her back to bed immediately. He smiled and told her to wait for him outside while he paid the tab, which consisted of subtly, non-verbally Obliviating the bargirl.

If Melanie had been disappointed to be brought back to the estate, she had not shown it. If she had been disappointed by the sex, well, Draco didn't care. It was rough, impersonal and sweaty, with the heat of the August day stuffily trapped in the room, clinging to their bodies like a smog. After a while Draco rolled off her, relieved for it to be over and unconcerned with her satisfaction. Usually he might have been more attentive, but he was not in the mood tonight. He stared at the ceiling as she quietly made her way to the bathroom and allowed the immediate post-sex feeling of satisfaction wash over him, mixing with the warm buzz of the whiskey. It was exactly what he had needed. He was asleep by the time she got back.

Draco awoke a few hours later, sober and with a cracking headache. He sat up and cursed quietly as he made out the Muggle's sleeping form next to him. The room smelt of sweat and unwashed bodies. He felt clammy and disgusting and so cast a quick cleaning charm on himself. He got out of bed, pulled on some pyjama bottoms and pushed the window wide open, allowing the fresh air to breeze into the room. The sky was beginning to lighten and he felt inordinately sad at the sight.

He looked round for Melanie's bag on the floor, picked it up and rooted around, searching. There was so much shit in there, but finally he found what he was looking for. He took the packet of paracetamol and popped a couple out into his hand, before knocking them back with a sip from an old glass of water. Scorp had introduced him to this particular Muggle medicine a couple of years ago when they had run out of pain relieving potion. Sometimes they worked, but of course they were incredibly slow to act and completely unpredictable. Draco did not understand how Muggles coped without magic.

He lay back on the bed and stared at Melanie's exposed back. She was thin to the point of being underweight, and in the light of the dawn Draco could see her ribs protruding slightly through her milky white skin. She had a small, gothic looking tattoo on her left hip which made him grimace. He tried to remember Astoria's back but found he could not. The last time he had slept with her had been over twelve years ago. Details like this were starting to fade, slipping out of his memory like dreams. He tried to bring up an image of what she looked like, naked. Her smooth, soft waist; her small, perfect breasts; and the dark fuzzy patch of hair between her hips and thighs. But was that right? He was not sure if he had just conjured up a memory of a memory. Or a memory of an imagined thought. After so long alone in Azkaban, and then after so many different bodies flitting through his bed since, he could not quite remember what was her and what belonged to others. He felt himself slipping into a deep melancholy as thoughts of Astoria swept through his head. She was so pure, so good, so loving. What the fuck had she seen in him? Draco suddenly felt rise up within him such a deep loathing for himself he wanted to disappear. He glared at the Muggle and felt anger bubble up at the sight, wondering why the fuck she had not left yet.

Suddenly an image of Hermione Granger sprung to mind, sitting behind her desk, gloating at the idiocy of wizards. Draco's mother had always said he was good at compartmentalising his feelings. He was self-aware enough to realise it was true. That was how he had dealt with everything over the years and how he had allowed himself to get in so deep with so many fucked-up things. Finally, for the first time, he allowed himself to think about that interview. That fucking interview with Granger. How dare she say those things to him, bring up his past in front of Scorpius just to get one over on him?

The day had been going well until that point. Scorpius had been moody and sullen, but Draco could tell he had been mildly impressed by the school and the teachers. Draco had been as well, truth be told. Despite the location, it really had not been as bad as he had expected, and from what he had caught of Granger's speech, he was impressed by her passionate statements of equality and of standing up to prejudice. He had left the hall, quietly hopeful about Scorpius's future. That maybe he would not be judged for his father's mistakes.

But of course, a former Death Eater could never expect to get away in life without encountering prejudice at every turn. Of course she meant equality only for a certain type of person, _i.e_., someone without a Dark Mark. He knew that was the reason behind every job rejection and he could deal with that, but to encounter it from her, the poster girl of equal rights and opportunity? He shouldn't have been surprised, why should she have been any different? Despite trying to change and be someone better, it was as if people did not want him to. They still wanted him to be the villain and wanted to remind him of it at every turn. To the Greengrass family, he was a blood traitor and Muggle lover, allowing their precious Scorpius to be corrupted. To people like Granger, he would forever be a Death Eater, a bully and blood purist. Neither side would accept him, and his heart ached for what that meant for his son.

Admittedly he had been wound up by her 'wizards are lazy' comment, and her broad sweep of distain she held for their rich traditions and cultures, and their progress and achievement. Maybe he had been a little over the top with his comebacks, but he had not been completely serious. He had been playing with her somewhat, as it simply had been too tempting an opportunity once he realised how easily she could be wound up with her charmingly sincere beliefs. He really had not meant everything he had said, and Draco thought she would realise that it had been a pitiable attempt at banter, but evidently Granger's sense of humour did not pick up on this.

Instead, she couldn't wait for him to fulfill whatever pre-conceived ideas she had about him, dredged up from fourteen years ago when he had been a conceited little dick. With a sinking heart he acknowledged that obviously he still was that same person. What idiot jeopardises his son's happiness with his own pride? Well, as Draco was proving that time and time again, he did.

He had been surprised by how good Granger looked once they had sat down across from each other at her desk. He had been dimly aware at school that she was pretty, but having been blinded by his prejudice he had never really acknowledged it. Her physical attraction had been below his notice, and if in weaker moments if he had ever noticed it, it was just another thing to hate her for. However, times had changed and as he bemusedly shook her hand, Draco could not help but notice the awkward, bookish teenage girl had grown into real beauty.

The confident, professional air that he had witnessed during her talk had slipped slightly upon welcoming him inside, and Draco had felt himself relax once he realised she was as nervous as he was. During the interview he had been impressed that she had attempted to and succeeded in engaging in his moody son, and he had felt the stirrings of hope that just maybe he had finally made a good decision by choosing Burbage. But that obviously had been utterly foolish once the two adults had collaborated to dash that notion. Of course he deserved everything she had said, and more, but he could not believe that she would go there in front of Scorp. Throughout Draco's incarceration he had idiotically held onto the tenuous hope that Granger had somehow seen through his Death Eater mask and that had been one of the reasons why she and Potter had come forward at his trial. But now he knew that the only reason had probably been due to their infallible Gryffindor hero complexes and belief in doing the right thing. Why should he have believed he deserved anything more from someone like her?

Draco felt himself slip deeper into hopelessness as he thought of his son. What would Scorpius encounter at Burbage High? Would Granger target him? Would he get blamed for any blood-purity bullying that occurred? He was already disadvantaged, just from Draco's performance today and even his whole existence. Draco knew that he should just accept the Greengrass's money and send him to Hogwarts. At least there, in Slytherin, Scorpius would be accepted. But Draco knew that it could never happen. They were in too deep, his pride would never allow him to crawl back to the sneering faces of Apollon and Amelia and beg for money. The amount of satisfaction they would get would kill him. He would lose Scorpius and he would not survive that. Draco was disgusted by his own selfishness and felt, not for the first time, that Scorpius would be better off without him.

Draco continued on with these thoughts while he drifted in and out of sleep for the next few hours. He barely noticed when the Muggle got up and crept out with a whispered goodbye. He lowered the blinds, lay in darkness and sank deeper into his depression. Thinking of how he had let down his parents, Astoria, and Scorpius. How he could never offer his son the childhood he had enjoyed, how he would never be good enough for someone like Granger, how he would always be scum. And it was true - Draco was scum. Stealing to survive, barely able to keep a roof over their head, selfish to the point of harming Scorp, thinking himself above Muggles, when deep down he knew he was no better. Fucking them as a way to distract himself, when he should have been spending time with his son. He felt like he was back in Azkaban, with nothing but the distant chill of Dementors for company, reminding him how worthless he really was.

Finally, he was stirred by a crack of light coming through the darkened room and a small voice calling his name.

"Father? Are you ok? Please answer."

Draco blinked in the light and stared at the outline of Scorpius in the door. "Scorpius. What time is it?" he croaked.

"It's four in the afternoon. I tried knocking earlier, but you didn't answer."

"Why didn't you come in, to wake me up?" Draco asked.

Scorpius paused as if he did not know what he should say. "You were so angry yesterday when we got back... And then you went out. I thought you didn't want to see me, or talk to me." He sounded nervous and very sad.

Draco felt his heart wrench and sat up. "Come here, Scorp."

Scorpius shyly entered the room and walked over to stand at the foot of the bed.

"Get in with me." He opened the covers on the other side and held out an arm. The boy hesitated, but then slowly climbed in. Draco pulled him close and wrapped an arm around him, reveling in his son's closeness and his warmth, allowing it to spread through him.

"Were you scared of me?" he asked, quietly. Scorpius nodded, minutely.

Draco let out a slow, shuddering breath and shut his eyes. "I never want you to be scared of me, Scorp. You've got no reason to be. I was not angry at you yesterday, I was angry at ... myself."

He paused. "You've only known me for a couple of years, so I get that you are unsure of where you stand, but you have got to know that I love you so much. I don't know what your grandparents told you about me, but I would never do anything to hurt you or put you at risk. You are everything to me and the most important person in the whole world. I'm so sorry I made you feel like that." Draco tried not to think about the fact that this was the second time he was apologising in as many days.

Scorpius was silent, the only indication that he had heard was the tightening of his arms around Draco's torso.

Suddenly the enormity of the situation hit him. He had effectively been out of action as a father for twenty four hours. He groaned, as the familiarity of the situation weighed heavily on his chest like a tonne of guilt. Granted, he had been doing better recently, but when this happened he may as well be back to square one in his efforts to be a good father to Scorp. "What have you done today? And last night? What have you eaten?"

"Last night, I went round Jake's for tea. I think his mum is getting a bit suspicious though, she kept asking about you. I, er... I nicked some bread from their kitchen last night, for breakfast this morning, just in case you were... asleep again," Scorp said, rushing the words out.

Draco let this sink in. By allowing himself to indulge in his own misery about being a bad father, he had made the situation ten times worse by neglecting Scorp further. It was a viciously familiar circle.

"And for lunch today?"

"I haven't eaten."

"Right! That's it! Let's go out for dinner!" he said, smiling shakily down at Scorpius, who looked up, his eyes wide in shock.

"But what about money?" his son asked, uneasily.

"Well actually, someone sent me some money yesterday for a batch of potions I made a while back," he lied smoothly. Scorpius's face broke into a smile and he wriggled away from Draco to jump out of bed.

"Come on then! Can we have burgers? There's this amazing looking American themed restaurant I've seen around the corner. You can get these MASSIVE burgers and baskets of chips and huge milkshakes! I've seen people having them through the window. Please can we go there?" Scorp gabbled, happily.

Draco smiled back. "Of course, it sounds delicious. Let me shower and get dressed, I'll be ready in ten minutes."

Scorpius bounded from the room, and Draco crawled from his bed, relief flooding him at his son's forgiving nature.

The burgers at the American diner were indeed delicious. Draco beamed as Scorpius laughed uproariously at one of his jokes, beef juice running down his chin. He felt good for the first time in days, and marvelled that how only an hour before he had felt the complete opposite. It was all Scorp's doing; the child was like an angel. They sat, happily slurping on chocolate milkshakes and licking their salty fingers and Draco listened to his son chat away about his mates and what they had been up to over the summer. Soon the conversation turned to Burbage High. Draco had not wanted to push the topic, so he was relieved when Scorpius brought it up.

"It's so annoying that I won't be able to bring my new broom to school," Scorpius said, frowning.

"But at least they have Quidditch!" Draco consoled. "That was a bit of a surprise, I wasn't sure they would with their location. Great idea using a Portkey to get to a safe location to play."

"I can't believe you thought of sending me to a school that doesn't play it! I'm meant to become a Seeker like you, Father!" Scorp said, indignantly.

Draco laughed. "Well, you're the one who goes on about football all the time. I thought you'd be happy with that!" he joked.

Scorpius looked outraged. "Football is fun, but honestly, I can't wait to show them how well I can fly."

He smirked, making Draco laugh again; the expression looked so sweet on Scorpius. "I thought Burbage was great. I can definitely see you fitting in there," he said, carefully.

Scorpius bobbed his head side to side. "It was okay... Well, it was pretty cool. But I can't believe the headmistress is going to be one of my teachers. She's a bit... scary." He trailed off, anxiously glancing out the window and away from his father.

Draco frowned. Granger was pretty scary now he thought about it, particularly to an eleven year old. "I'm sure you'll be fine, Scorp. Just be yourself and you'll be fine," he said, lamely. Draco wanted to tell him that Granger would be bound to love him but he did not think he could make the lie sound convincing enough. "Just don't give her any reason to pick on you, don't draw negative attention to yourself."

"She already threatened me. After you left. Not to use _that_ word on any students." He scrunched his face up, as if imagining that he would ever do such a thing. "Said I'd be expelled."

Draco felt anger surge up. Already she was penalising his son for his own irrational reaction to her provocation. "Just be careful, okay? Miss Granger may use any opportunity she can to find something wrong with what you do or say. Just work hard and show her how clever you are; I know for a fact that will impress her."

Draco hated telling his son to try and smarm up to the witch, but he was still a Slytherin, and sadly knew that manipulating people was the only way to get through life sometimes. "People like Miss Granger might hold your name against you, but you've got to remember that they are wrong to do so. You are your own person and although you should be proud to be a Malfoy, other people may not see it that way."

"But if most people at school are Muggle-born, then they won't know our name? It won't matter?" Scorpius said, hopefully.

"Exactly! It's a fresh start!" Draco smiled and Scorpius returned it while nibbling on the last of the chips. "Come on, let's go. It looks like it's going to be a really clear evening tonight and it's a new moon. How about you and me go to the roof and do some astronomy? Even with the light pollution we should be able to make out more than usual."

Draco sent Scorpius outside and wandered up to the waitress at the till. He thanked Merlin the restaurant was mostly empty.

"Here's your bill sir, was everything okay with your meal?" Draco smiled grimly, holding his wand concealed in his sleeve. He looked about him once again, confirming no one was around and lifted his arm as if to take the bill.

"_Confundus_." A dreamy smile slid on to her face as she gazed at Draco. He tried to squash the knot of unease in his stomach. It was worth it if Scorpius could go to bed full and happy tonight. He willed the waitress to look back to the till. She pressed a few buttons and looked back at him, confused. Her eyes slid out of focus and she smiled dreamily again. "Keep the change," he said pleasantly.

"Thank you, sir," she said, still dazed.

He nodded and strode away to the door. When he got outside he paused, seeing Scorpius standing round with his group of friends about twenty meters away, back towards the estate. There were about six of them in total. Three were sat on bikes and the other three were larking about, as if acting out some hilarious scene to Scorpius, who was laughing. They all looked as if they were aged between ten and fourteen. Draco could see the group were passing around s can of something and the oldest two were sharing something that looked like a hand-rolled cigarette. He frowned as he caught the smell of weed in the air and began to walk over, hearing the tail end of the story.

"And then Ricky just ran for it and the stupid old perv fuckin' fell on his face and Robbie was all over that shit. Got his wallet and his phone! Ma bruv is gonna sort him out a sweet deal." The boy ended with a snap of his fingers and suddenly looked up, noticing Draco standing quietly behind them.

The laughter died down as they all backed away from him. "Oi, what you lookin at? You some sorta pedo?" he squared up to Draco as best as he could at five foot two. The boy's bravado was impressive.

"Chill out, Sachin, this is my Dad." Scorpius said, stepping between them.

"Shawn, mate, your Dad is well creepy though! He looks like a vampire, innit!" Sachin said, stepping away and clapping his hands in laughter.

_Shawn, who the fuck is that?_ Draco opened his mouth to ask, but Scorpius cut in, reacting to his father's look of shock at the name.

"We was just in that diner, Dad took me out for these sick burgers. They were well nice." Scorpius flashed him a desperate look; one that clearly said, _please keep quiet_.

Draco felt pretty speechless anyway; why was Scorpius speaking like a common Muggle?

"That's cool, mate." The oldest-looking boy spoke up. "Alright, Mr Malfoy, is it alright if Shawn 'ere comes hang out wiv us this evening? My mum's headin' out so the boys are comin over for... pizza and movies." He took a swig on what Draco could now see was cider, gave a sly look and a wink to the group and they all cracked up laughing, no doubt at the preposterousness of the idea of a quiet night in.

Scorpius pretended to laugh but Draco could tell he was incredibly uncomfortable. He looked down at him, expectantly. He wondered how his son would deal with this.

"Actually mate, I'm gonna hang out wiv Dad tonight." He had his hands shoved in his pockets and kicked a weed in the ground. Scorp glanced up at the older child. "See ya later though."

"Bye Shawn, have fun wiv Daddy! Make sure you sleep wiv garlic round ya neck!" The joker, Sachin, said to great bellows of laughter from the others.

Scorpius grinned back. "Whatever, I saw you wiv ya Mum last week. 'Please Mum, pleaaasseee can I have some sweets?'" Scorpius dropped down on his knees and mimed begging, shuffling around on his knees.

"You didn't, you fucker!" Sachin shoved Scorpius good-naturedly and he fell to his hands, laughing.

"Its so true though, Sach! You is such a mummy's boy!" piped up one of the others.

"Catch you up in a sec," Scorpius said quietly to Draco, giving another pleading look.

Draco stalked off, leaving Scorpius to say his goodbyes. The children's laughter and shouts echoed off the concrete square and faded as Draco rounded a corner. A second later Scorpius caught up with him and a very awkward silence settled between the pair as they continued their walk towards the flat.

"So," began Draco, tersely. "This is why your mates have never been to our flat. You're embarrassed."

"Father, it's not like that, it's just -"

"I thought I was Dad now, _Shawn_."

Scorpius winced. "You don't get it!"

"Get what? That you're ashamed of who you are?"

"No!"

"So you pretend to be like them, like a Muggle."

"Stop acting like we're better than them!"

"But we are." They had stopped walking by this point and stood in the stairwell of their block, facing each other in frustration.

"No, we're not! You sound like Grandfather! I used to think so too, when we we first moved here, but I was wrong! Just because we can do magic, it doesn't mean we are better than them. You need to change! What you said to Miss Granger was horrible, and yes, I was ashamed of you then." The words came tumbling out and Draco felt rocked by them.

"But, that story that you were lapping up, that the idiot was telling. They robbed an old man and are dealing in stolen goods. How are these people you want to impress, to be friends with? That idea you had the other day, about us stealing from the rich to survive. That wasn't from TV was it? That was these boys influencing you!"

"Father, you are the one who went to jail for ten years, and I know that you haven't paid the rent in months! You don't have any money, how can you pay it? You don't have a job, how do we get food? I'm not an idiot! You can't pretend you're better than them!" Scorpius was red in the face and looked close to tears.

Draco was stunned. Fuck, he thought he had been careful in covering his deceit. Of course Scorp was sharp enough to have picked up on it.

"Fine. Maybe I'm like them, but you're not, you don't have to stoop to that level. Please, Scorp, I don't want you to see them again. People like that will drag you down."

Scorpius scowled angrily. "But they're my only friends! What am I meant to do? You won't introduce me to any wizard friends, and I don't go to school, so these are the only kids around." He threw his hands up in a gesture of frustration. "I haven't done anything stupid, I haven't done anything bad!"

Draco paused and thought about it. He knew it was not healthy for a boy to be cooped up all day without friends, and it was his own fault that these boys were his son's only option.

"If I find out you've been smoking or drinking I will be so disappointed. I think that boy was smoking drugs, Scorpius. I don't even need to tell you not to do that. And if they're planning any shoplifting or pushing over old men I want you to come home immediately." Draco couldn't believe he was having to say these things to his eleven year old son.

Scorpius rolled his eyes, but was obviously relieved. "Obviously! I would never do any of that stuff. Anyway, I start school soon, and I'll make new friends there," he said reassuringly.

Draco paused and tried to think rationally. He trusted his son; trusted his character. If Scorp was pretending to be someone else to fit in, at least he could take comfort from the fact that his son was only pretending.

"Friends with whom you don't feel the need to change your name and talk differently?" Draco said, softly. They began to walk up the stairs.

"I had to. If I spoke like this then they'd never be friends with me. What kind of name is Scorpius anyway?" he added.

Draco sighed and launched into the usual talk. "The Black family name may have died out, but you and I are two of the last remaining descendants who still carry on the traditions of-"

"I know, naming us after the constellations and stars. But why couldn't you name me something more normal, like..." There was a long silence as Scorpius racked his brains. "Leo!"

"Absolutely not! Not the house mascot of my old school rivals!" Draco said in mock outrage.

"Okay, there are no other options! They're all terrible! There's no way I'm doing it to my kids."

"That's up to you, Scorp. It was actually your mother who wanted to name you Scorpius, not me. I was like you, and ready to wash my hands of it all. But she thought it was important. And I'm so glad she got her way, as I think it suits you perfectly. Couldn't imagine you called anything else!"

Draco got a rueful smile out of his son at that, and despite still feeling annoyed at the whole situation, was relieved to be back on friendly ground after his performance this morning. After an exhausting climb during which they both lapsed into thoughtful silence, they arrived at their door and went inside.

"Father, I am sorry. I didn't want you to meet them, not because I'm ashamed of you, but because I was embarrassed of how I have to act around them, and I didn't want you to hear or see any of that. I promise I haven't been lying to you, I have been going round Jake's mostly - he's not friends with that lot. I can invite him over so you can meet him if you want, you'd like him." Scorpius was trying to act casual, but Draco could tell that it was an act.

"That would be fantastic. Why don't you invite him over for astronomy tonight?"

Scorpius looked unsure and chewed on the side of a fingernail, anxiously.

"Really? I could ask... I don't think he knows anything about the stars. He might not care."

"Worth a try? He might surprise you."

In the end, Jake did accompany them on their nighttime expedition to the roof. Draco was pleasantly surprised to find that Jake was a polite and well-mannered boy and genuinely interested in what they were doing. Scorpius was not even talking that differently around him. Draco entertained the two boys with grand tales about the various members of the notorious Black family, pointing out the different stars, constellations and galaxies from which they'd got their names. Of Cygnus, the swan, high above them flying along the milky way; his grandfather and how he spoilt Draco as much as Apollon spoilt Scorpius. Of Arcturus in the west, one of the brightest stars in the sky, and as a very scary old man had terrified Draco as a child with horrific tales of his own Black methods of torture. Of his crazy great-great-aunt, Cassiopeia; whose constellation they found towards the north. She was the Ethiopian Queen who chained her daughter, Andromeda, to a rock in the ocean, who was also poking just over the horizon, and for whom Draco's aunt was named.

"What was she like, Dad?" Scorpius asked, his interest sparked in hearing about an unknown family member Draco rarely talked about. Draco paused.

"Actually I've never met Andromeda. There was... a bit of a family row before I was born. In fact, she's still alive and I think she has a grandson who's about your age, Scorp." He said, cautiously.

Scorpius looked up from his telescope and gazed at his father in excitement. "Really! Can I meet him?"

"Maybe one day," Draco temporized.

"Your family sounds pretty scary, Mr Malfoy. Is that like why you live here? Are you like in, witness protection or somefink?" Jake asked, sounded somewhat impressed.

Draco laughed. "Something like that."

As they packed up their telescopes a bit later and began to descend the stairs back to the flat, Draco contemplated that despite everything, he had managed to make a success of the day. He and Scorpius seemed to have reached a better understanding of each other, and Draco even seemed to have impressed one of his son's friends, which was a completely unexpected and pleasant accomplishment. He knew, however, that something had to change. It _had_ to, especially as Scorpius' pleas about getting a wand were getting more and more urgent, with justification. School started in only a few weeks.

Draco knew what he had to do, but he had been putting it off for a long time. Especially since now it seemed that all deals with his Greengrass in-laws were out the window. It was time to make a trip to visit his mother.


	7. Shadows and Secrets

**Shadows and Secrets**

It was not until Tuesday of the following week that Draco finally ran out of excuses to keep putting off the visit to his mother's house. Once Scorpius deduced where he was planning on going, he insisted on being brought along. After a struggle, Draco relented. It would do his mother good to see her grandchild, and though he felt he needed to protect Scorpius from certain unpleasant realities of life, there was always the slim possibility that it was still early enough in the day for Narcissa not to be too far gone.

The two wizards Apparated from their usual spot on the roof to the edge of a small village in rural Wiltshire. Draco chose to transport them to a wooded area close to a quiet road that he knew well from his childhood, one which was close to his mother's cottage. After the Ministry-ordered sale of Malfoy Manor, the government had graciously allowed Narcissa enough money to purchase a small property nearby, since unlike her husband and son, she had never officially become a Death Eater.

Draco and Scorpius appeared with a crack, the rich, sweet smell of the damp earth hitting their nostrils before their eyes had time to adjust to the shade provided by the trees. Draco breathed it in deeply, revelling in the calm after the constant sirens and traffic drone of London. Having Apparated, he found the difference in atmosphere between the city and the country much more stark than if he had travelled from A to B in the Muggle way.

They began to walk, neither wizard feeling much need to converse. It was another typical late summer day. Unusually, it had barely rained that August, and as they made their way from the woodland to the road, the grasses and weeds that grew along the path were starting to crisp to yellow and brown. The blue sky stretched before them, the only blemish a broken, wispy trail from an aeroplane. They walked along in the shade provided by the tall hedgerows that lined the road. Although it was only ten in the morning, the sun was already hot enough to heat the ground, filling the air with the scent of dusty earth and the strong tang of baked tarmac. Within the hawthorne and alder branches of the hedgerow, the insects and the birds seemed to be working frantically, their droning buzz and song filling the air, as if they knew that within a couple of hours it would hit temperatures that meant keeping near water and shade.

Father and son soon reached a path that ran off to the right and they left the road, coming to a rusty gate that led to a small red brick cottage. The lawn was overgrown and unkept, the flower beds filled with weeds, and ivy grew thickly over the house, choking the shuttered windows. If Draco had not known better, he would have thought it was abandoned.

He felt a knot of dread at the sight and prayed that this time, he would not have to break in if his mother did not come to the door. He knocked, Scorpius standing slightly behind him nervously. After a few long moments, just as Draco was ready to give up and use his wand, the door swung open and Narcissa Malfoy stood before them, beaming an enormous smile and blinking in the light.

The years had not been kind to Draco's mother. When once she had been considered one of the most beautiful witches in society, now most would not recognise her if she passed them on the street. Which, luckily or unluckily for her, would never happen as she was practically a recluse.

Draco felt an enormous weight lift from his shoulders as he gave a relieved smile back in greeting. Thank God Scorp would not have to see her passed out and covered in sick on a sofa.

"My darling boys!" she trilled, and flung her frail arms around Draco. The inevitable stink of gin that clung to her like a fog wafted over him. It was not just stress and loneliness that had ruined Narcissa Malfoy, but also her steady and all-consuming decent into severe alcoholism.

"Scorpius! You look just like Draco did at your age! What are you now, eight? Nine?" she embraced her only grandchild as he frowned.

"I'm eleven, Grandma," he said, wiping a smudge of lipstick off his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Oh, of course you are! My, I forget how young Draco was when he had you. Well, come in, come in!"

They followed her dubiously into the dark hallway, Draco shooting Scorpius an encouraging smile. His mother was in high spirits today, and in fact, seemed happier than Draco had seen her in a long time. His sense of relief faltered slightly as his eyes adjusted to the twilight of the house and he noticed the mess. Clothes, books and debris littered the hallway, and a stale, unpleasant smell permeated the air. His mother flitted away from them down the hall and entered a door at the end. They followed her through and came to a small parlour where Narcissa now perched on a chaise longue.

"Oh, this will have been a happy day!" She said, opening her hands to them. Draco smiled slowly back at her, taking in the slightly too-wide eyes and manic smile. Even when his mother had been happy (which had been such a long time ago he could barely remember it), she had never been like this.

"Mother, why don't you open the shutters? Let's get some fresh air in," Draco said, moving to one of the windows. Narcissa sprang up and rushed to stop him.

"No! no, no no," she slammed the shutter closed before Draco had even finished pulling it open. He backed off, alarmed, and she peered through the crack to the back garden. "They're watching you know, dear. Watching the house. No, no, keep them shut, it's for the best," she muttered.

_Oh god, she's finally gone mad_, he thought, uneasily. _She's not as drunk as usual, but she's definitely snapped_.

Draco moved to sit down on the sofa next to Scorpius and rested a reassuring hand on his son's knee. Narcissa floated back to the chaise lounge and removed a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of her silk dressing gown. She took one out and placed it daintily between her lips.

Draco watched her light it with alarm. "Mother!" he spluttered. "Why are you smoking!?"

She gave a tinkling laugh, the smoke exhaling through her nose. "Well, a few weeks ago, the little Muggle man who delivers my milk gave me one! I was quite curious, you see, and I found I quite enjoyed it! I decided to take it up, as a little hobby. Would you like one? They're splendid!"

"No, thank you, Mother." Draco was completely disturbed. "Are you alright?"

She laughed again. "Quite alright, thank you! Couldn't be better in fact. I haven't felt this good in years! Oh! I am such a bad host. Can I get you boys something to drink? Tea? One gets so used to living by oneself that one forgets how to entertain! Of course, if Dobby were still around... Never mind that!" With that, she swept from the room, trailing cigarette smoke.

Draco looked at his son. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Grandma seems better, doesn't she?"

"She seems, very cheerful." But not at all herself. Draco had grown up greatly admiring his mother for the way she conducted herself, with grace, poise and a certain _sangfroid_. He even had tried to emulate her, but with the right provocation he could never hold back his temper in the way that she could. Some may have mistaken her for being cold or indifferent, and perhaps she was, but Draco also knew that it meant that there was more true emotion left for him and his father, as she did not waste it on those who did not matter. Behind closed doors Narcissa still was self-possessed and was not overly demonstrative, but Draco grew up secure in the knowledge that he was well-loved.

Even over the past couple of years, in the haze of her alcoholism and the depressed, drunken stupor Draco would often find her slumped in, Narcissa still retained some of that reserve, the gin never quite causing her to lose all her inhibitions. However, apparently, things were different today. Perhaps this was her true self, finally freed after years of disciplined self-restraint as her mind unravelled? Draco was not sure whether to push the subject, or to let her get on with it. He decided on the latter, as it would not do to cause a scene and ruin whatever peace she had found.

He stood and walked to the table next to where his Mother had been sitting. Picking up her teacup, he gave it a sniff: gin. Draco sighed and left to go to help with the tea in the kitchen. He found his mother there in the dim light, struggling pathetically to turn on an electric kettle. He took it from her shaking hands, and placed it on the work surface. He took her hands in his, wanting to quell the tremors. Her skin felt papery and soft, as if it were too delicate to survive a paper cut.

"Mother, what are you doing? Do you even have electricity here?"

"I don't know, I think I did at one point, but I'm not sure where it's gone," she said, uncertainly.

"Why are you making tea the Muggle way anyway? Where's your wand?"

Narcissa widened her eyes even further, giving her thin and wrinkled face an almost comically dramatic expression. "My wand?" she paused and looked around. "Well, now you mention it, darling, I haven't seen it for quite a while!"

"What?" he exclaimed.

"Well, I guess I just stopped using it." she gave a little shrug, the dressing gown slipping off to reveal a bare shoulder.

Draco let go of her hands and pulled it back up carefully. "Mother, what have you been living off? Why have you stopped doing magic? Do you even know how to cook without it?" He felt like he was talking to a child, it was absurd.

She looked down and shrugged again. "Oh, I'm fine, Draco, don't you fuss. I'm managing okay, pottering along. Anyway, let's get this tea on!"

And with that she was back to business. "I'm going to talk to little Scorpius. Be a darling and finish it off?" She picked up the still burning cigarette off the table where it left a scorch mark and drifted back out of the kitchen.

Draco watched her disappear back down the hall. She was like a fragile little hinkypunk, her light, wispy hair in a cloud around her head and the burning tip of her cigarette floating behind her. He imagined her luring travelers off into her strange land of half light, flitting between rooms like a silk-robed ghost.

They passed a strange, yet somehow enjoyable hour together, chatting and playing Exploding Snap. Draco pushed down the niggling worries over his mother's bizarre behaviour and tried to enjoy himself. It was the Malfoy way, after all. Where better to practice the ingrained childhood lessons of emotional suppression if not with his own mother?

Scorpius seemed to relax a little and was delighted to be told countless stories of Draco as a boy. It was when Narcissa brought out the old photo albums that Draco decided it was time.

"Mother, if you'd mind having a quick word, outside." He glanced at Scorp, who was completely entranced by the photos and had not heard. She agreed and they entered the small living room that lay beside the parlour. He opened his mouth to speak but his mother spoke first.

"I know what this is about, Draco. You need money. I know that's the only reason you ever come here."

Draco swallowed with guilt at her words. For the first time, she sounded a bit like her old self, seeing straight through his bullshit and going right to the point. It was small comfort.

"No, mother! Of course I want to see you," he said, the lie sounding false even to him.

Narcissa walked to the shuttered window and opened it a crack to look out to the garden. The light streaming in caused an almost solid wall of bright golden dust to appear between them.

"I know it's hard for you,Draco, to see me like this. You have to understand though, it was... difficult, while you were away. Your father died in prison, no one cared for me anymore. I have nothing. I have no purpose. No husband to please, no child to nurture. You don't understand." In contrast to her previous lightheartedness, her desolate words seemed even more poignant. Draco could not make out her face, backlit by the sunlight in the window, but she seemed smaller; hunched over.

"I do, mother," Draco said, pathetically, not knowing what to say. He was useless like this sometimes; especially with her. Maybe it was because their relationship had never really reached the stage where they could comfortably have these conversations with one another? Without one of them being drunk in any case.

"No, you don't. You have Scorpius, and I can tell how much he loves you, how much he looks up to you. Don't squander that, Draco." She turned from the window, closed the shutters and smiled. "How much money do you need?"

"Well, you know I wouldn't ask unless we were desperate. Scorp's starting school soon and he'll need a new wand..." he trailed off, thrown by her direct question.

"Oh, absolutely! He can't go to Hogwarts without his own wand! No second hand rubbish for our boy!" The sombre mood seemed to have vanished like a shadow beneath the sun, and she was back to the off-balanced cheerfulness from before. He did not want to spoil it by telling her that it was not Hogwarts where Scorp would be heading.

"Here! I know. You take whatever you need, whatever you want to sell. Some of this stuff may still be worth something. I'll be back in a jiffy." She left the room and Draco gazed around the shelves, tables and cabinets. Many things from the manor had ended up here, squashed awkwardly in this tiny room, like a strange, dark antique shop. But that had been fourteen years ago, and precious little of it remained. It had been good to know the Ministry had not gotten their hands on all the Malfoy heirlooms, although they may as well have done, what with Narcissa gradually pawning them off just for something as mundane as drink.

He collected up a few valuable-looking items that still remained and placed them on the table. A small bottle on the mantlepiece caught his eye and he went to pick it up. It appeared to be a medicine bottle and was half-filled with pills that the label identified as OxyContin. Strange, that sounded very Muggle. Since when did his mother start embracing Muggle healing? Narcissa re-entered the room holding a purse and rooting through it.

"Mother, what's this?" She glanced up and looked at the bottle before meeting her son's eyes.

"Oh, nothing. Just a kind of... Muggle calming draught. They're quite... effective. And you know my nerves, Draco! Mundungus Fletcher sold them to me. Practically worthless, he said they fell off the back of a lorry! Whatever that means."

She walked over holding out her hand and took the bottle off Draco. "Shouldn't have left them out! Silly me! Naughty me!" She scolded herself crossly, like an old, frail house elf. Clicking the plastic bottle lid round and round nervously, she crossed the room and opened up a wooden box, placed it inside and then locked the box. She took the little key and put it in her pocket.

"Now, where were we." She spun around and surveyed the collection. "No darling! You can't have this!" She swooped down and snatched the beautiful, emerald studded tiara Draco had found in a velvet box in a drawer. "I don't care how desperate we get, you can't sell this! My father gave it to me on my wedding day. Passed down throughout the Blacks." She caressed it lovingly and placed it back in its box. "Pick anything else alright, darling? I'll see you in a minute, got to get back to my game!"

"Oh! I almost forgot!" She picked up the purse and extracted a £20 note. "There you go! I thought I had some Muggle money somewhere. So strange, isn't it? Paper money. My, my. That should be enough for some food?"

She beamed at Draco as he dutifully took the money and thanked her. It would be enough for a quite a few meals. It meant he could put off the Diagon Alley trip for another couple of days, at least.

His mother left the room to go back to her 'game' and Draco drifted back to the cabinet, finally selecting a carved pair of ugly marble Abraxan horses. He went to the door, but at the last minute paused to look at Narcissa's medicine box. It was a bit suspicious, locking the box. Probably no real explanation though, just one of her eccentricities. Still, it was better to check. He cast an Alohomora and opened the lid. It was completely full of those little brown glass bottles of Muggle pills. Draco felt a stirring of hatred for this Mundungus character. He must have ripped her off with a load of useless pills. Probably took complete advantage of her vulnerability. No wonder she was keeping them hidden, she was probably embarrassed at being conned. She would not need them all though, and Draco thought to himself that it would be useful to have an alternative to a calming draught around the house. Muggle medicine wasn't always completely useless.

He called to the other room. "Mother, is it okay if I take one of these medicine bottles?"

"Yes, darling, anything but the tiara!" Her voice called back.

He shrugged and popped a bottle into his back pocket.

The rest of the visit passed pleasantly enough. At twelve Draco walked down to the little farm shop around the corner and - choosing to save the money his mother had given him - nicked some basics for her empty cupboards. He returned to the kitchen and was relieved to find that the gas still worked on the hob. He prepared them all a simple omelette each, one that caused raptures of thanks and admiration in Narcissa, despite her barely picking through half. They finally departed at three, Draco feeling pleasantly optimistic about the future. True, his mother had quietly been sipping on gin the entire time, but at least it had been watered down, and she did not seem to be attempting to drown her sorrows in it. If that was what helped her through life and made it bearable, who was he to judge or try and force change? He had made her swear to keep eating and get some sun, though he doubted either promise would come to much. He also had gotten what he wanted; the collection of valuables would collect a nice sum, and once Scorpius had got over the strange twilight of the cottage he had got on very well with his new and improved grandmother.

The twenty pounds lasted right up until Friday of that week. Draco was thinking about trying to eke it out longer, but Scorpius' moaning about getting his wand was becoming unbearable. He finally relented on Thursday night and informed Scorpius that they would go get it the following morning. His son's inevitable jubilation did nothing to ease the dread Draco felt at the prospect. He had been to Knockturn Alley a few times over the past couple of years, but had avoided the main shopping street like the plague. He couldn't face the inevitable stares and whispers that he knew his appearance would provoke. At least the probability of bumping into an ex-schoolmate or friend of the family would be less than over the weekend.

By morning, after a near sleepless night, the nervous twisting of Draco's stomach was becoming unbearable. While struggling to eat breakfast he suddenly remembered the calming pills from his mother. He took one with water and waited. He was disappointed to find that after half an hour still nothing had happened. Scorpius was becoming agitated by the delay and had irritatingly began to throw a ball against the wall.

_Fucking muggle medicine. _Completely shit, as expected. He took another; perhaps it was like paracetamol and you were meant to take two? Another fifteen minutes passed and Draco gave it up. If anything, he was feeling even more anxious and his palms had started to become uncomfortably clammy. They left the flat, but instead of climbing up the stairs, Draco took them down. "Is it alright if we take the Underground, Scorp? I'm not feeling up to a side along Apparition at the moment."

"Are you alright, father? You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine. Just not feeling great. I'm sorry, Scorp, but the quicker we get this over with, the better."


	8. The Magical Trip

**The Magical Trip**

"Is it okay if we take the Underground, Scorp? I'm not feeling up to a side-along Apparation at the moment."

"Are you alright, Father? You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine. Just not feeling great. I'm sorry, Scorp, but the quicker we get this over with, the better."

The two wizards entered the Bethnal Green Tube station, where the escalators carried them down into the sticky depths of subterranean London. As they rode west into town Draco thanked Merlin they had left the house slightly later than planned and had missed the disgusting rush hour crush of bodies. He was starting to feel really unwell and strangely claustrophobic. He glanced at the station they'd pulled into: Liverpool Street. They had only gone one stop!? How was this possible? He felt like they had been on the hot, stuffy train for hours.

Draco stood and paced the carriage, fanning his t-shirt away from his torso to try and cool down. He was sweating like a pig and was beginning to feel incredibly stressed. He rolled up his sleeves, for once not caring about hiding the Dark Mark. He glanced up again: St Paul's. Only three more stops. He felt faint and sat back down, but then stood up as the anxious writhing in his stomach became too much to bear. _What the fuck is happening to me?! I need to get off this train, I can't take it any longer!_

"Scorpius, we need to get off, now. Stop the train! I think-"

"Father, it's still moving, you can't stop it!" Scorpius was wide-eyed with concern. "What's wrong? You look awful!"

Draco shook his head and wiped the sweat off his upper lip. Was he having a panic attack? The train was lurching, grinding to a halt. Juddering slowly down the line. A piercing announcement. His stomach twisted. The heat was rising. People were looking. Really staring.

Finally. Freedom. Draco rushed through the doors, gulping down air, heart thundering in his ears. Get away from the Muggles. He leant his head against a wall, trying to calm down, slow his breathing. The coolness of the tiles seeped into his forehead. Scorpius's hand was rubbing his back and he almost shrugged it off, but no - it helped. Slowly, but surely, his breathing returned to normal and with it came a completely unexpected feeling of serenity.

"Keep doing that, Scorpius - it feels amazing." He revelled in the touch and took deep breaths in and out, over and over. With each breath he felt as if his body was filling with a beautiful peaceful feeling, calming down one limb at a time and making each feel weightless and cloud-like. He stood up straight and smiled down at Scorpius.

"Father -" Scorpius paused and took in that wide smile with confusion.

Draco held out a hand and cupped his chin, stroking his cheek with a thumb. _He still feels as soft as when he was a baby._

Scorpius frowned, swiped at the hand and took a step back. "Father -" he tried again, but Draco interrupted.

"Shush Scorpius! Can't you feel it?" Something is happening, we must have been put under a powerful spell!" He beamed, feeling this incredible magic rushing through his body. "I feel like... I feel like nothing bad can ever happen to us again! It must be some kind of being - the opposite of a dementor! An angel, perhaps."

"What are you talking about!? I can't feel anything! What's happening to you?" Scorpius said in distress.

But Draco was not listening; he was caught up in his thoughts. Unbelievable, blissful contentment had settled into his very being. He hadn't felt this happy in years, since before Azkaban. Years and years, or even, ever? Maybe when his son had been born? Maybe when he had woken up one day and allowed himself to reciprocate Astoria's love for him? But nothing could compare. He felt like he was having an epiphany. He didn't want to be anywhere else in the world than standing on this platform with Scorpius.

Suddenly, the thought of casting a patronus came to Draco like a ray of sunshine. After a botched attempt when he was fifteen,Draco had never attempted one again, thinking that he probably just wasn't capable of it. Now though, not only did he he feel like he would be able to cast one, but that it would probably exist for eternity, forever protecting him and Scorp. He excitedly drew his wand, raised it, and -

"FATHER! What are you doing! Put it away! Muggles could be around!" Scorpius's frantic voice cut through his thoughts and he looked down, distracted.

"Oops! Sorry! I forgot for a minute where we are!" Draco giggled.

"Please, Father, one minute I thought you were going to faint, and now you're acting really weird and happy!? What's going on?" Scorpius said, clearly upset.

Draco forgot about the Patronus. He focused on his son's little face and felt his heart breaking with love. He sat on a bench and gathered Scorpius in his arms. He felt absolutely perfect.

"I don't know what's happening to me Scorp, but I do know that I love you so much. I am so lucky to have you." He pulled away and gazed into his son's concerned blue eyes, exactly like Astoria's.

"Dad, you look a bit like Grandma..."

Draco laughed again, realisation hitting him. Oh, it made perfect sense! "Scorp, you have nothing to worry about. I think I may have taken one too many of Grandma's calming draft pills. They seem to be quite strong!"

"Please stop stroking my hair."

"Sorry! It's just so soft..."

"Father, I think you're on drugs." Scorpius said, slowly.

"What! Muggle drugs?" He said in surprise.

Scorpius nodded solemnly.

Draco couldn't believe the muggles had invented something like this! They were geniuses! Every bad thought he'd ever had about them was completely wrong. If this was science, then Hermione Granger was right and every witch and wizard was missing out. He repeated this thought to his son, who finally broke into a funy looking smile and shook his head.

* * *

Scorpius realised at that point, with terrible clarity, that it was up to him to look after his father - yet again. His dad had been doing so well recently, excepting a few missed mornings due to his 'moods,' or a day or two with empty cupboards.

Scorpius took his father's hand, picked up the bag of his grandmother's belongings, and slowly led them towards the platform that would take them home. He had gotten _so_ close to the wizarding world this time. He blinked hard, desperately fighting the prickling of tears in his eyes and tried not to think about all the magical shops he had been dreaming of all summer. Not that he had any money, but just to look around would have been amazing.

What was wrong with his father? Why couldn't he just be normal, for once? It was just so unfair. Scorpius knew his dad had been through a lot of damaging things, but it wasn't just this. It was just that he was so clueless about everything. Scorpius guessed that this was what happened if you grew up with servants, went to boarding school, and then just straight off to prison. It had taken Scorpius a long time before he felt like he could let Draco get on with being the parent, although he had never stopped worrying.

Today was just another example of just how naïve his father was. Scorpius knew that Draco had an abstract notion of the dangers of Muggle drugs, but - as with everything to do with Muggles - he never assumed that it would be a danger or threat to _him_, a pure-blood wizard.

Of course, Scorpius knew of the dangers only too well - he had seen the homeless addicts bumming around the estate and been witness to dealing and the crime that went with it. They always had the same desperate, deadened look in their eyes and it repulsed him. Scorpius wanted to achieve too much in his life to ever be like that. He could not pretend his father's prejudices against Muggles did not have certain advantages, though. He would not have gotten away with half of the stuff he did if his father was actually paying attention to any of the people on the estate.

Meeting his mates had resulted in an incredible learning curve for Scorpius. Apart from discovering that despite his grandparents' bigotry, he had learnt his mother had been right and wizards were not actually that different from Muggles. He also had learnt how to fit in and make friends, how to have someone's back in a fight and how to ensure that he did not go to bed hungry, which was often a risk with Draco when his father was having a bad spell. Scorpius had started off as a distraction to the intended victim or a lookout when the others were doing the actual shoplifting, but had soon graduated - he was a very fast learner. The only problem now was that the older boys had started to notice just how unusually talented he was at getting out of impossible situations. Scorpius did not feel bad about stealing if it meant he could eat dinner (every time his father unsubtly sent him out of a shop or cafe to 'pay,' _i.e_., wipe the memory of the owner, he felt less and less guilty at his own life of crime), but he did feel horribly uncomfortable about the other stuff they were starting to ask him to do.

Scorpius knew he was getting in too deep, but it already felt too late to back out, to go back to a normal life and pretend he had never done anything wrong. He did not even know if were possible, if the others would even let him. It was why he had wanted to go to Hogwarts so badly. It had been his dream; a lifeline out of the ocean of lies and deception he had lost himself in. But now that dream was dead; Scorpius guessed that he would have to work something else out.

He felt terrible about lying to his father, but there was no way he could tell him the truth. Although it was kind of his dad's fault, the idea of him finding out about his son's double life made Scorpius feel utterly wretched. Draco was just so trusting, and thought so highly of him.

The other day, after their meal at the diner, he nearly had been found out. It had been too close, so close that Scorpius believed that it was the end. But of course his father had believed him when he lied about how involved with those boys he really was. He was just that naïve.

Scorpius squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that were blurring his vision and felt like the oldest eleven-year-old in the world. A longing for his simple life with his mum welled up so desperately it hurt. Although what would she think of him now? Scorpius, the occasionally blood-prejudiced wizard and Shawn, the part-time muggle criminal, both influenced and led by whoever was closest. He needed to be stronger, had to be.

"Where are you taking us, Scorp? Don't you want to get your wand?" Draco asked in surprise, interrupting him from his hopeless thoughts. "Hey, are you crying? Why are you upset, love? What's wrong?"

"Well, we can't go to Diagon Alley with you like this! We need to go home, you might get into trouble," he said, his voice wavering. His dad enveloped him in another tight hug. Scorpius relaxed slightly, despite himself.

"Don't be silly! I feel completely wonderful, nothing bad will happen to us today! You have my word. Please don't cry. I'm sorry this is happened, but really, I'll look after you," Draco promised.

Scorpius choked out a dry laugh at the irony. Although... maybe they could get away with it. Maybe he could still get his wand? His mind, used to thinking up strategies to pull off the seemingly unobtainable, thought it through. Get in, get to the antique shop, then to the wand shop and back home, then it may be possible not to bump into too many people. He thought longingly of the other shops he desperately wanted to visit, but pushed the thought away - they needed to focus on what was important.

"Okay, but you promise to let me do the talking?" he said, wiping his eyes.

"Yes, Scorp! You are amazing, of course you will!"

They exited the station, Scorpius still gently guiding Draco by the hand. Despite his worrying, it was pretty funny to see his usually so-serious father dazedly smiling at any Muggle who crossed their path. He listened to Draco natter away about nonsense and decided that he was not going to let this spoil his big day. So what if his dad was high? At least he had a dad who was taking him to get his first wand. As they neared the Leaky Cauldron and it popped into view, Scorpius felt his heart soar. It was actually happening! He rushed them through to the courtyard at the back, not looking up at the old man behind the bar or any of the other customers. He vaguely recalled it from his childhood, but not quite well enough to open the passage himself.

"Father, can you get out your wand and do the thing?" he asked.

Draco gave him a wide smile, drew his wand and tapped a series of bricks. Scorpius watched, committing the motions to memory. A small opening appeared, and the bricks began to break apart in their seamless, ancient routine. Scorpius led Draco through the archway and into the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley. He finally allowed a smile to break across his face and looked up at his dad, who gave another right back.

They began to wander up the cobblestone road. Scorpius, like thousands of eleven-year-olds before him, was instantly side-tracked from his mission by the wealth of distractions the shops were offering. There was Quality Quidditch supplies! He was proud to note though that thanks to his Greengrass grandparents, he already had the beautiful broom in the window and so passed it by without a second glance. And here was the bright orange, famous Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes! He had been longing to go in there. His grandparents had never allowed it; pronouncing it an 'unsuitable establishment' for someone like him. Now, Scorpius stopped walking and lingered at the window, gazing unreservedly at a small boy his own age chatting to a red-haired man with one ear at the counter. Maybe that was the famous George Weasley? The Gryffindor whose wild pranks featured in many of the stories his mum had told him about her school days.

Suddenly the man looked up and caught Scorpius' eye. Crap. Scorpius shrank away and tugged his dad along with him further up the road. Rule number one when doing a job was don't get distracted, and he had already failed. He looked at the surrounding witches and wizards. Maybe it was his imagination, but did it look like they were already drawing attention to themselves? Did he just see someone point at them? Another witch glanced blatantly around and then whispered loudly to her friend. Was his father really this infamous? Scorpius felt uneasy and shook his dad's hand to get his attention from whatever day dream he was entertaining. "Father. Dad! How do we get to Knockturn Alley?"

"We need to keep going. It's up on the left in a bit," he replied dazedly.

"And how much did you want for Grandma's things?"

Draco thought for a bit before answering. _At least he's mellowed out a bit and isn't being so over the top any more_, Scorpius thought.

"Maybe fifty Galleons? I'm not sure really..." he answered anxiously.

Scorpius looked up at him. Draco seemed little fearful all of a sudden. "I'm not sure... I'm not sure I can do it, Scorp." His wide eyes gazed down at his son, who squeezed his hand back in reassurance and offered him a the biggest, most confident smile he could muster.

"Don't worry, Father, I've got this."

* * *

Scorpius led his father through the faded door of Borgin and Burkes and took in a deep breath for courage. Entering Knockturn Alley had been a little like going into a dark wood on a summer's day; just like going into his grandma's house a few days before. It felt a little colder and wilder, as if danger skirted just behind the shadows of doorways and seemingly innocuous shop windows. It only made Scorpius stand a little straighter though. It was kind of like being on one of the neighbouring estates of a rival gang, nothing he could not handle, and so he entered the antique shop with the determination of someone who knew how to get their own way.

"Mr Malfoy! What a surprise! What an... honour, that you would grace us with your presence after so many years of absence!" A squat, ugly old man stepped out from behind the counter and rushed to meet them.

He offered a limp hand to Draco, who shook it while looking incredibly skittish. The man then offered his hand to Scorpius. He took it, wincing slightly at how cold and clammy it was, and noted with offence the way the man's eyes were raking up and down his clothes in obvious disgust. Scorpius shoved his hand into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms and wiped it on the inside, trying to dry off the old man's sweat. He had worn his favourite clothes for this occasion, something he had lifted from JD Sports a couple of months ago. Who did this shopkeeper think he was to give him such a dirty look?

"So, Mr Malfoy, are you buying or selling today?" the man inquired in an oily voice, walking back around the counter. Scorpius shot a look at his dad, trying to communicate that he should let him do the talking. Draco stared back with his wide eyes and nodded.

"We're selling, Mr...?" Scorpius said, smoothly. The man's eyes flashed on his and they appraised him, beadily.

"I am Mr Borgin. And you are of course Master Scorpius Malfoy," he identified him, with a nasty yellow smile.

Scorpius tried to keep his cool. _Just like dealing with anyone else. Doesn't matter that he's some creepy old dark wizard who somehow already knows my name._

"My father and I would like to sell these items. They are incredibly valuable, and have been in the Malfoy family for generations," he drawled, trying to sound like his dad. He desperately hoped he was saying the right things with the right kind of voice. He could not allow this shopkeeper to detect the weakness he no doubt expected. Scorpius opened the bag on the floor and began to pull out the items, carefully setting them on the desk.

"I shall be the judge of their value, Master Malfoy," Borgin said quietly, thin fingers examining each in turn.

Scorpius felt his dad's hands squeeze his shoulders and heard his voice whisper in his ear, almost too quietly to be heard: "Please be quick Scorp, I hate it in here..."

"No dark pieces I see, young man, but of course, your family lost all of those to the Ministry, did you not? Such a shame," Borgin continued, his eyes roving between the antiques and Scorpius.

He did not know how to respond to this, so instead plowed ahead. "We would like seventy Galleons for the lot."

Mr Borgin let out a harsh laugh. "Your son is quite a chip off the block. Isn't he, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco cleared his throat nervously.

Borgin raised an eyebrow. "Or perhaps not... Perhaps the boy takes after the late, great, Lucius Malfoy? Yes, despite appearances, I rather think he does."

Again, Scorpius was not sure what the man was insinuating, so held his head a little higher and ignored him. "Seventy galleons or we'll go somewhere else."

Borgin's eyes hardened from their confused flickering between father and son, and the bartering began in earnest.

Scorpius and Draco left the shop ten minutes later and fifty five Galleons richer. Scorpius felt incredible, like a enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Draco was awestruck, rubbing his hands up and down his son's shoulders, and showering him with his own special brand of nonsensical praise. "You're like a pineapple!" he exclaimed.

Scorpius burst out laughing. "What!?"

"Yes! I mean, you were in there! Hard and tough on the outside, but I know you're sweet and lovely in the middle." Scorpius shook his head ruefully. "Don't worry Scorp, most of the time you're like... a peach. Soft and fuzzy on the outside!"

"Da-ad! Please shut up!" he said with a bashful smile, embarrassed despite no one being around to hear.

The feeling of proud accomplishment only intensified after they emerged later on from Ollivander's, with his brand new wand box clutched protectively in a bag to his chest. The feeling the wand had given him had been indescribable. Like a whispered promise of a powerful future, where he didn't have to pretend to be someone he wasn't any more, but could be a somebody. He had practised a few basic spells on his dad's wand during their lessons, but it had never been like that. Scorpius had felt his very soul brush up against something immense and wild and ancient, and the rush it had given him was incredible. Riding this high and dreaming about the future, Scorpius forgot again about his responsibility to his father to get them back out to Muggle London inconspicuously, and they wandered slowly back down the alley, both lost in their own little worlds.

"It can't be..." Draco whispered, suddenly pulling them both to a stop.

With a start, Scorpius realised he recognised the boy walking towards them. He had been the one in the Weasley's joke shop. Now, he was deep in conversation with a man that looked like he could be his father; they had the same shaped face and messy mop of black hair.

"Who is it, Father?" he said, nervously.

"It is! It's him! It's him! The-Man-Who-Lives!" Draco exclaimed loudly.

People were beginning to look, but the man and his son still had not noticed them. If it was one of his dad's old friends, perhaps they could still avoid them? "Father, is it someone you know? We need to get away! Turn around, quickly!"

But Draco was not listening to him. Instead he took a step forwards and shouted down the street to the two wizards. "Oi, Scarhead! SCARHEAD!"

Scorpius cringed behind him, feeling powerless as the black-haired man looked up sharply, an incredulous look breaking on his face.

"Scorp, it's Potter! It's only bloody Harry Potter!" his dad announced.


	9. Old and New Friends

**Old and New Friends**

"Father, is it someone you know? We need to get away! Turn around, quickly!" But Draco was not listening to him. Instead he took a step forwards and shouted down the street to the two wizards.

"OI! Scarhead! SCARHEAD!" Scorpius cringed behind him, feeling powerless as the black-haired man looked up sharply, an incredulous look breaking on his face. "Scorp, it's Potter! It's only bloody Harry Potter!"

Harry Potter. Scorpius knew that name - he had heard it mentioned by his mother and subsequently by his grandparents in hushed tones and significant expressions (it was not a topic often covered around the dinner table at their manor in Dorset.) He was the man who had vanquished the Dark Lord. Not once, but twice. First as just a baby, and then when he was only seventeen. Clearly the type of person you did not want to bump into if your normally reticent father had a dark, mysterious past working for the evil Dark Lord this very man had killed, and especially when said father was currently acting so unpredictably. But the fearsome, intimidating Harry Potter of Scorpius' fantasy fiction-stimulated imagination did not live up to the very ordinary man that was now walking towards them. He did not look like he was drawing his wand, ready to fight. Instead, he looked sort of ... amused. A strange, half-smile played across his face.

"Well,if it isn't The Chosen One!" his dad shouted, jogging forward to meet the other wizard, flinging his arm round his shoulders in a swift and casual embrace as if they were the oldest of friends. Scorpius hid his face in his hands, mortified. Primarily due to his total loss of any kind of control in the situation; secondly by seeing his dad act so demonstrative - Scorp had never seen him initiate physical contact with anyone, barring himself; and thirdly, at the resulting look of surprise Harry had at the gesture. Scorpius was barely able to console himself that at least this was better than spontaneously duelling.

"It's so good to see you, Potter," Draco gushed, stepping back and leaving Harry rooted to the spot, apparently too stunned to do anything more.

Scorpius mirrored Harry's frozen pose exactly, taking in the other wizard's startled expression, his gaping mouth. Scorpius' own mind thrashed uselessly between horror and panic, like a fish out of water. So it didn't seem like they were mortal enemies, but this man must have known his dad well enough to know something was off! His reaction was screaming to Scorpius that Draco was not acting normal. He should have pulled his dad away and back up the road before it was too late and he revealed that something was wrong. Scorpius prayed to high heaven that this man was as ignorant about Muggle things as most wizards were, and he wouldn't be able to recognise the symptoms.

"This is my son, Scorpius," Draco told Harry, beaming. "Come here, Scorp, meet Potter. We were old school friends!" Draco dragged his cringing son towards Harry, who was looking between the two blonds with complete confusion.

"Well, you could hardly call us friends," Harry said dazedly, seemingly regaining his composure enough to disagree. "Nice to meet you, Scorpius." He held out his hand and the boy took it gingerly, trying not to let it show that he was practically shaking with adrenalin.

Harry shot Draco another bewildered look and then suddenly seemed to realise that it was the moment to introduce his own son. "Oh, this is Albus. Come on, love, shake hands." The boy stepped out from behind his father and nervously stuck out his hand to Draco. "This is Draco Malfoy."

The boy gasped at the name and then jumped back as he took in the skull and snake tattoo on the arm attached to the offered hand.

Scorpius frowned, distracted momentarily from their predicament. It was only a tattoo for Christ's sakes, what was with the over-reaction?

Draco looked down at it with a theatrical look of alarm, as if suddenly realising it was there. "Oops! Didn't mean to leave that out!" He hastily rolled down the sleeve and looked around.

Scorpius did the same and suddenly realised their little reunion had gathered quite a few spectators. Again, he noticed people pointing at his father, but also at Harry. It suddenly dawned on him of that other, very significant reason bumping into Harry Potter was probably the worst thing they could have done: they now drew even more attention to themselves. This was not merely Scorp's careful get-in-and-out plan going wrong, this was it crashing and burning. A couple of camera flashes went off and like an electric shock they jolted Scorpius out of his daze and into action.

"Father, come on, we need to leave," he said in a low voice, tugging on his dad's arm.

"But Scorpius, I haven't seen Potter in years!" Draco protested.

"Please, Dad, we need to go home, people are staring."

"Scorpius, please stop nagging! I'm fine! Let them stare, it's not my problem if they've never seen a Dark Mark before!" he said, voice raised and clearly audible to everyone in their vicinity.

What's a Dark Mark? Scorpius thought in confusion. The blissful bubble his father had been floating on seemed to be wobbling. Scorpius tried to think, but he could not see a way out with Draco acting so irrationally. His eyes met Harry Potter's and he shook his head frantically, not knowing what to do or say. Luckily, Harry seemed to understand.

"Malfoy, come on, let's go somewhere else! Where we can continue our conversation." He put a hand on the taller man's shoulder and lead him away, barging roughly through the small crowd of people. They scattered and Scorpius caught a few snippets of conversation as he scampered behind them: Did you see the Death Eater? I think it's Draco Malfoy. Did you see his son? The nerve of him coming here. Dressed like Muggles, it's got to be some kind of sick joke.

Scorpius tried to ignore them as he followed the two men down the road. He saw with surprise that Harry was leading them back across to the entrance of Knockturn Alley. Albus ran ahead to his father and asked him nervously where they were going. Scorpius overheard Harry tell him it was somewhere private.

Slowly the crowds of people thinned until they passed only the occasional witch or wizard. Scorpius felt himself slowly begin to relax, the burden of responsibility loosening slightly. However, he still kept his eyes glued to the back of his dad's head.

Albus dropped back from his dad after his questions did not give him any more information and began to walk alongside Scorpius, nervously looking around at the dark shop fronts around them and fidgeting with his sleeves. Scorpius rolled his eyes with all the bravado of one returning to the scene of a victory,forgetting conveniently - even with the gift of hindsight - how intimidating the place had seemed to him only hours before. This kid was scared of Draco, scared of a tattoo, and now was scared of this street. Scorpius had decided not to like him.

"Is your dad always like this?" Albus asked Scorpius.

"What do you mean by that?" he replied, reluctantly drawn in by the probe.

Albus shrugged. "Well, he's a bit... Well, it's just I've heard stories about him, you know, but he seems a bit..."

"What?" Scorpius said sharply. "What stories?" But Albus did not reply. "Why did you jump like a little girl when you saw my dad's tattoo?" he asked, frustrated.

Albus looked up at him incredulously. "Because it's a Dark Mark!"

"What does that mean?"

"You don't know?" Albus's voice rose to a squeak.

"Well, obviously not, otherwise I wouldn't be asking," Scorpius pointed out, irritated.

There was a pause.

"It was the mark Voldemort gave his Death Eaters so he could summon them," Albus said, quietly.

Scorpius gasped. He had never heard anyone actually say the Dark Lord's name out loud before!

Albus looked at him with puzzlement. "What's wrong? Afraid of the name? Who's the little girl now? Or didn't you know about your dad?"

Scorpius ignored the jibe and was silent as he mulled this over. Well, it didn't change much really; of course he knew his dad had been a supporter of the Dark Lord, even if he really did not understand all that it entailed. And he knew that Harry Potter was the one that killed the Dark Lord. So why was his dad acting like they were long-lost friends, even with the influence of the drugs? And why was Harry helping them out? Wouldn't they have been enemies?

He thought back to the talk they had had the week before, after that awful lunch with his grandparents. His dad had said that he had changed, he had never killed anyone, Ms Granger had defended him. Scorpius knew his dad wasn't really a bad guy, had never really been one. (He couldn't have been.) Maybe Harry Potter knew too?

Albus seemed worried that he had gone too far, upsetting Scorpius into silence and so tried to talk to him again. "Don't worry about all those people by the way. Back there. They probably weren't even interested in your dad at all. We get that a lot." He shrugged, as if it was no big deal.

But by this point Scorpius was trying to listen to what his father and Harry Potter were talking about and ignored Albus. They had reached a grimy looking pub called The White Hart. Scorpius could not help but think that whoever named it had a strange sense of irony as they entered the dark, candlelit room.

"Ah, Mr Potter! Your usual private room?" a very normal-looking, middle-aged wizard said from behind the bar. Scorpius had been expecting someone creepy like Mr Borgin.

"Yes, please, Andrew. How're the wife and kids?"

"Splendid, Mr Potter. Little Sarah will be starting Burbage in a few weeks! Will you be wanting lunch menus?"

Harry looked round at the suddenly realised how hungry he actually was but shook his head furiously. He really had not planned on using their money on something as ordinary as food.

"I'm starving, Dad!" Albus said dramatically. Harry's eyes left Scorpius' and he sighed.

"Not today, Andrew, just drinks," he said, wearily.

Albus let out a noise of frustration and moaned about his empty stomach all the way to the back of the pub. Scorpius tried to ignore him; the other boy was really getting on his nerves. Andrew led them back into a cosy room with a view into the property's little flowery walled kitchen garden.

Draco walked over and stood in the sunshine that was pouring through the window. "How beautiful!" he exclaimed.

Scorpius saw Harry and the barman exchange a significant look as he left the room.

"Knockturn Alley has been really cleaned up over the last few years. I mean, you can still find the more alternative shops if you know where to look, but most of the businesses are pretty ordinary. I've been coming to this place for years. It's perfect, because most witches and wizards are still too distrustful of this area to even give it a chance. It's not great for their business, but it does mean we get a lovely, private place to have our drink!" Harry explained to the group as they took their seats and picked up the menus.

"Things just aren't as black and white as they used to be. The world can't be divided up into good or bad." Draco said with vague profundity.

Harry nodded in agreement, caught Scorpius' eye and gave him a wink. Scorpius found himself smiling back. He found he could not help but like Harry Potter. He felt himself relaxing with the proof that clearly the famous wizard did know his dad had changed sides. Maybe he would attribute his open and affectionate behaviour to this change as well? Maybe bumping into him wouldn't end up being a total disaster.

"Da-ad, I'm thirsty, can you order some drinks?" Albus said in a whiny voice that made Scorpius frown.

"Why don't you go to the bar and order for us, Al? I think I might have a Butterbeer. Scorpius?"

"Tap water, thank you."

"You sure?"

Scorpius nodded. "Same for my father, please," he added when he saw that Draco was gazing out of the window and not paying attention.

Albus left for the drinks and Harry asked them what they were doing in Diagon Alley. Before Scorpius could answer, Draco was proudly announcing their purchase of his son's first wand. "He was amazing in there! I've never seen so many sparks! I already know he's going to be a great wizard one day." Draco grinned across the table at him.

Scorpius felt his face heating up in embarrassment. "Father! Shut up!" he said in an embarrassed undertone.

"What type of wand is it, Scorpius?" Harry asked.

Scorpius leant 'round and picked the bag up from under his chair. He took out the box and opened it up. His brand new wand lay there looking absolutely perfect in its bed of blue velvet. He stroked it gently and felt a tiny frisson of the magic he had felt earlier on first touch. He looked up at Harry, who was watching him with a small smile of his own.

"It's ash with a unicorn hair." At this point Albus came back into the room, drinks carefully balanced on a tray by two trembling hands.

"Oh! Is that your new wand? Let's see it!" he said excitedly, seeing the open box and sliding the tray of drinks ungraciously on to the table.

Scorpius snapped the lid closed before Albus' outstretched fingers could reach it. There was something about this boy that was just so childish, Scorpius just could not find it within him to be polite, even though he was probably the first wizard his own age he had ever met.

Albus stopped, looked crestfallen for a moment, but seemed determined to befriend Scorpius and persevered on. "So you must be my age! We're going to be in the same year at Hogwarts!"

Scorpius glowered at him, and noticed that Harry had nervously cleared his throat. His own father was somehow even looking uncomfortable, if that were possible.

"Well actually, we're not. I'm not going to Hogwarts," Scorpius said, in the strongest possible voice he could muster.

Albus looked at him in shock. "But why not!?"

"Because - I want to go somewhere different, alright?" There was no way he was letting on that he felt as bewildered by the situation as Albus was.

"But why? Why wouldn't you want to go to Hogwarts? It's the best place in the world!"

"Albus! That's quite enough!" Harry interrupted. Evidently he had caught the look Scorpius was giving his son, even if Al was too tactless to pick up on it himself. Scorpius wanted to slap the idiot.

Suddenly Albus seemed to pick up on the change in atmosphere and backed away a little and sat next to his father. "Er, where are you going then?"

"Burbage High," Scorp said, shortly, trying to keep a lid on his anger at the other boy and his humiliating questions.

"Aunt Hermione's school!" Albus said, looking up at his father.

"Yes, it's a very good school. Miss Granger is an excellent witch; you'll do very well there, Scorpius," Harry told him.

Scorpius shrugged and looked out of the window. There was an awkward silence, which of course Draco managed to break. "They're like a mini you and me Potter! This could have been us, twenty years ago!"

Harry laughed at the inappropriateness of the comment.

"Did you know, boys, that Potter and I fell out the very first time we met, too? And now look at us!" Draco gestured between himself and Harry.

"My dad said you hated each other throughout the whole of Hogwarts, and you've never been friends!" Albus said, boldly, apparently no longer frightened of him. Draco waved a hand languidly as if such things weren't important.

"Also, Malfoy, that isn't true. Don't you remember the first time we met was actually in Madam Malkin's robe shop?" asked Harry. "We didn't fall out then."

"Ah, but I didn't know who you were then. Little Scarhead." Draco smiled fondly, as if recalling the scene. "You know, Potter, I've never told anyone this, but all I wanted was to be your friend."

Scorpius choked on his water.

Harry snorted. "Only because of who I was."

Draco lazily waved his hand again. "What, you don't think that everyone else was the same?"

"No, I don't. Hermione certainly wasn't, and Ron..."

"Well, of course Granger wasn't, but really, the Weasel! And what happened to him? Where is he now?"

Harry shrugged with a sad look on his face.

"I told you he was the wrong sort! And I was right! I did warn you!" Draco gloated. "The Weasleys have always historically been the fickle type. No true sense of allegiance."

"Hey! My mum is a Weasley! I'm half of one!" Albus piped up, outraged.

Draco shrugged, looking unrepentant. "Well, maybe some of them are okay, but not that Ron. I wonder what would have happened if you hadn't rejected me, Potter? I've often thought that. Things wouldn't have turned out so shit."

There was a moment of heavy silence. Scorpius could not believe what he was hearing. He had never heard his dad talk about any of this stuff before. He was usually so tight-lipped about anything that happened in his school days. Most of the things Scorpius knew about his father from when he was at Hogwarts were pieced together from the wildly differing stories his mother and, subsequently, his grandparents had told him.

"I don't think it would do to dwell on what-ifs, Malfoy," Harry said, quietly. "Thinking like that never ends well."

"But I do think it would have been better for you in Slytherin than in Gryffindork," Draco went on, oblivious.

Albus let out a nervous laugh. "My dad? In Slytherin!? Don't you know he pulled Godric Gryffindor's sword out of the Sorting Hat? There's no way he'd ever be a Slytherin!" he said, shrilly.

Scorpius found his dislike deepening further. "What's wrong with Slytherin?" he asked, sharply.

The boy turned to him, glancing nervously at his father. "It's just... Slytherin, isn't it?" Albus shrugged. "My brother says that none of them are... very nice, and that, er -" His eyes darted to Draco before looking awkwardly at the table. "More wizards turn Dark there than from any other house."

Scorpius scowled at him before briefly looking at his dad for reassurance. Draco rolled his eyes and smiled gently at his son, putting him at ease.

Harry turned to Albus with an exasperated look. "Al, what have I told you about believing stereotypes? Since Mr Malfoy seems to be in the mood for sharing, I think I'll divulge a little secret too. Al. When I was Sorted, the hat actually wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I asked it not to!" he said, the words dropping casually from his mouth as if he did not place any importance on the reaction they would garner.

Albus' mouth dropped open comically, while Scorpius muffled a giggle.

"A-HA!" Draco exclaimed, banging his hand on the table. "I knew it! I knew you should have been with us! You wouldn't have been influenced by all those hot-headed idiots! Throwing yourself into danger at any opportunity! We could have dealt with things differently."

He turned to talk to Albus directly. "Listen, mini-Potter, the type of bravery that Gryffindors are exulted for is overrated. It is irrational. There are other types of bravery in other houses, better types. Just don't end up in Hufflepuff!" he finished with a wink.

Albus smiled weakly.

"Right, I'm going to go and pay the bill," Harry announced a little while later, standing up. "Scorpius, mind coming with me?"

Scorpius felt his stomach flip. _He probably wants me to pay for me and Father! I thought tap water was free!?_ He followed Harry nervously out of the room and towards the bar, but the man stopped and pulled him aside into a booth. Scorpius swallowed, suddenly feeling even more anxious. He knew. He was about to confront him about his father! About the drugs! He would tell the police, tell his grandparents!

"Scorpius, is something wrong with your father?" Harry had sat down and was looking into Scorpius' face at eye level.

The boy avoided his gaze and stared at the floor, nervously kicking the table leg and heart pounding in his ears. He did not say anything, but thought furiously for an excuse. He'd thought his dad had calmed down enough to pass for nearly normal. Granted he still had a slightly crazed look around the eyes, but at least he wasn't spouting off about angels or pineapples any more. It was the initial hug that had clearly given the game away (along with everything else that came out of Draco's mouth.)

"Please, Scorpius, tell me what's going on. I want to help."

Scorpius looked sharply up at Harry. Help? When had anyone done that for his dad? Although for some inexplicable reason he felt like he could trust Harry. Despite what sounded like a very horrible past relationship between the pair, he had rescued Draco from that crowd, sat with them here, listened to Draco without laughing at him. Scorpius felt a yearning to just tell him the truth, to be honest for once, but he found he couldn't form the words. They were too damning, too shameful.

"He... he took too much Calming Draught. By mistake. It's my fault, I read the dose wrong," he mumbled, glancing back down.

"Calming Draught?" Harry frowned.

"Er, yeah. He was nervous about coming here today, so he thought it would help." _Thank God you didn't see him earlier. There's no way I could get away with this story if you had,_ Scorpius thought.

Harry was quiet for a while, looking appraisingly at him. Scorpius dragged his own eyes back up off the floor and starred into Harry's defiantly. He noticed that they were an almost unnaturally bright green; his favourite colour.

Harry sighed and bit his lip. "Scorpius, is your house connected to the Floo?"

He shook his head.

"Okay. I don't think it's a good idea for you to go back home now. I don't know how your dad usually is with you, but to me, his behaviour is very, unusual. I don't think it's a very good idea to let you loose again in Diagon Alley. I'd like you to come back to my place, just until he's back to normal."

Scorpius shifted uncomfortably. He was not sure about this, although part of him knew Harry was right.

"I live in London, so you'll be able to get home easily," Harry added. "Which part do you live?"

"Bethnal Green."

"Right, well, in that case I can even Apparate you both back, if your dad isn't feeling up to it later."

Scorpius nodded slowly. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea.

"The only thing is, I'm expecting a few guests this evening, just some family and some friends. We're having a little barbecue..." He trailed off at Scorpius' look of alarm. "I can call it off though if you don't feel comfortable with meeting anyone?"

Scorpius shrank back. They could not risk exposing his dad to anyone else, accepting the invitation was out of the question. "No, it's fine. Thank you, Mr Potter, but I'm sure we'll be okay. We got here fine on the Tube, so I'm sure we can get back alright."

"I'm sorry, Scorpius, but I really don't feel comfortable letting you go off. You're only eleven."

Scorpius bristled. He had managed okay so far. He shrugged the hand off his shoulder.

Harry sighed, dropping his hand. "I'll tell you what, I'll let my friends know the dinner is off, it's not a problem. It'll just be close family. They're all lovely people, no one will judge your dad."

Scorpius thought about it slowly, lifting his eyes back up to meet Harry's. It would be so nice, to have the responsibility taken away from him. Harry seemed so kind and the thought of a barbecue sounded incredible. He was very hungry and he has never been to one before...

"Okay, Mr Potter," he agreed, slowly.

Harry beamed. "Please, call me Harry. Mr Potter makes me sound so old!"

Harry went off to close his tab and Scorpius returned to their room to inform his dad of the plan. It went down surprisingly well and the three wizards joined Harry at the front of the pub. They thanked the barman and each stepped through his fireplace, calling 6, Heath Road, Hampstead, as they went.

Scorpius stepped out into one of the nicest living rooms he had ever been in. It was smaller than his grandparents' and was not as posh, but this place felt homely, in the way that theirs never could. There were two enormous squashy-looking sofas, a bookcase in the corner, tables and shelves filled with photos of smiling people and babies. They even had a flatscreen TV! Scorpius had never thought that a wizards house could look like this. He stepped further into the room, and looked at his father who had seen him looking at the television with a smile.

"I think Scorpius wants to move in with you, Potter," he said, a note of his usual dryness creeping back.

Scorpius blushed. "I just always thought that magic and electricity didn't work together," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Harry laughed. "That's what they wanted us to think! I mean, granted, in a place of concentrated magic like Hogwarts, it is true, but as long as you don't directly use magic on the Muggle objects, everything works perfectly. At the end of the day, magic and electricity are both just types of energy..." he trailed off at Draco's look of exaggerated derision.

"Not the bloody energetic molecules again!" his dad said, laughing.

"Well, science was never a strong subject for me; you'll have to ask Hermione about that. Right, Al, I think the boys are playing out the front if the noise is anything to go by. Why don't you go and introduce Scorpius?" Harry left the living room through a door that lead to the kitchen.

Albus walked to another door and hovered there, waiting for him to follow. Instead, Scorpius went to his father and asked how he was feeling in a quiet voice. Draco gave him a small smile before answering in a whisper. "A bit more like my old self, nothing to worry about. I mean, I still feel... I can't really explain, but I can tell it's slowly wearing off." He gave his son another reassuring smile, a squeeze on the shoulder and wandered out of the room, following Harry.

Scorpius sighed and saw Albus was still waiting for him, looking irritatingly nervous. He walked over slowly, hands in pockets, succumbing to the fact that it did not look like his dad needed his protection any more and so he would have to hang out with the other children instead.

"So, who's outside?" he asked dully, as he followed Albus into the hall.

"My older brother James, and my dad's godson, Teddy Lupin." Albus paused, hand on the door latch. "We don't have to hang out with them, if you don't want to," he said in a rush.

Scorpius openly rolled his eyes, not caring if the other boy saw and it offended him. Since when had he and Albus become a we? Anyway, if all other wizard kids were as brattish as Albus was, then maybe Scorpius didn't want to meet any more. Although, was that a skateboard he could distantly hear?

"Nah, come on, show me your brother," he said, curiosity piqued.

Albus opened the door slowly and began walking down the path that led to the front gate and on to a quiet, tree-lined road beyond. Scorpius followed him into the heat of the afternoon sun and saw two boys, a year or two older than himself standing in the street. The taller boy held a skateboard, and as Scorpius and Albus approached he began to run with it, before dropping it in front of him on the smooth tarmac and attempting to mount it. It did not go well and with a look of panic the boy nearly fell over as it careened out in front of him, narrowly avoiding a parked BMW. Scorpius unsuccessfully tried to smother his laugh.

"Hey, guys!" Albus called over from the pavement. His voice was forcibly cheerful.

The two boys looked over, both frowning. The taller boy made a big show of looking annoyed and spoke close to the other's ear, although his voice carried over clearly.

"Oh, God, looks like your brother's back. Can't you tell him to piss off and leave us alone?"

"You know how my dad is," the boy who must be James replied, smirking.

"Look after little Alby!" the other one said, in a cruel, mocking voice, making James laugh.

Scorpius felt the ghost of his own laugh slide off his face. He glanced at Albus, who was scowling at the floor. The kid was really annoying, yes, and had been rude and immature earlier, but that was unnecessarily mean. As an only child, desperate for a sibling of his own, Scorpius had definite ideas on how brothers should act, and this was not it. They began to walk towards the two younger boys, and James called out, acting as if his exchange hadn't been totally audible.

"Who's your friend, Al?" Albus kicked the curb nervously but didn't answer.

Scorpius eyed the two up. The bigger boy seemed to be doing the same back, and his eyes seemed to glint with amusement at what he saw. When Albus remained silent, he decided to go for it. Typically for confident rich kids like this, they obviously viewed themselves as deserving respect of those younger or lower down on the social ladder than they were, but Scorpius had dealt with far worse and was not intimidated.

"I'm Scorpius. Me and my dad met your dad in Diagon Alley. He invited us back," he vaguely answered to James.

"Oh, right. You just get your wand?" he said, nodding at the Olivanders bag Scorpius was still clutching.

"Yeah."

"Are you gonna be starting Hogwarts with Al then, Scorpius?" the other one, Teddy, said, still obviously sizing him up.

"No, I'm going to Burbage."

The two older boys exchanged a crushing smirk.

"Oh, right." Teddy said, drawing the two syllables out, as if the idea was a joke.

Scorpius frowned. "Who's skateboard is it?" he asked, wanting to change the topic to something he felt at ease with.

"Er, it's mine," said James.

"Let's see something then?" Scorpius said, folding his arms.

James glanced at Teddy who gave him the board. "Okay, here goes!" he said with unnecessary bravado, and did nearly exactly the same thing as Teddy, the only difference being that James managed to stay on for a few seconds longer. When the board was eventually kicked away however, the boy leapt in the air with a happy shout.

"Nice one, James!" Al called while Teddy clapped spiritedly. Scorpius rolled his eyes. Albus might as well have had desperation painted across his forehead. James jogged back over, a look of triumph on his face. Scorpius unfolded his arms and did a mocking, slow clap.

"Yeah, nice... trick," he said. "Did the old lady next door teach it to you?"

James bristled. "I've only got it for Christmas!" he said indignantly. Scorpius raised his eyebrows, goadingly.

"So it's been months, then. Could have fooled me." _Jake and I have only been practicing on his since then too! _Scorpius thought, gleefully. Come on James, challenge me to beat you.

"Let's see what you can do!" The older boy said.

Scorpius was unable to hide his smirk. It was so easy to bait certain people: they were so predictable. He shrugged, masking his eagerness with an affectation of cool, and took the board off James. He saw Albus watching him anxiously and felt a pang of regret at his earlier treatment of him. With his own brother and this Teddy Lupin putting him down so much, Albus did not need strangers to do the same. Scorpius gave him a smile; he should enjoy seeing his brother being brought down a notch.

Scorpius dropped one end of the skateboard down and stepped on to it, propelling himself forward until both feet could balance him comfortably. He crouched low and, using the momentum of the board, kicked up, flipping it underneath him. It rose and fell and he landed squarely back on the board, feet planted firmly in place. A perfectly executed kickflip, thank you very much! It had taken him months to get that right. He felt the flush of success but tried valiantly not to let it show. He steered the board back to the boys and pulled up to a stop. The stupefied looks on their faces were quality, making the hours and hours of practice totally worth it.

"That was amazing, Scorpius!" yelled Albus, grinning.

Scorpius grinned back, just catching the impressed look the other two boys were sharing before they masked it.

"That was alright. Though, it's only a Muggle skateboard. We usually spend most of our time flying and playing Quidditch. Have you heard of that, Scorpius?" James said, condescendingly.

Scorpius smirked. Oh, had he ever. "Of course," he shrugged.

James frowned.

"Well, I bet you don't have a broom." Teddy said. Very mature.

"Maybe I do."

"What type is it? Some old Comet?"

Scorpius could tell they were starting to become aggravated. "Nah, it's a Firebolt."

"What? Really. A Firebolt?" said James, skeptically.

"Well, actually, it's a Supreme," he said, idly picking up the Olivanders bag while he spoke. It didn't matter that he'd only ridden it for about twenty minutes in total, and God knows when he'd have another chance with it trapped in Dorset at his grandparents' house.

There was a silence, and then the two friends burst out laughing. Scorpius tried to keep his face clear.

"Riiiigghhttt... So, we supposedly have here a wizard, who looks like a Muggle, who can skateboard like a Muggle, who is going to a school for Muggleborns, but who claims to have the most expensive broom on the market that not even some of the top league teams have yet," Teddy reeled off. "Something isn't adding up."

"How do you know my dad, again?" James asked, frowning.

"My dad went to Hogwarts with him, his name is Draco Malfoy." Scorpius savoured the words as he said them. There was no way he was going to be ashamed of who he was to these tossers. He smiled evilly as the expected looks of shock appeared on the faces of both boys. He glanced at Albus who was watching Scorpius surprisingly with what he could only interpret as a look of awe. Scorpius smirked at him, and was rewarded one back.

"I didn't know anyone could shut Teddy up." Albus ventured bravely, making Scorpius laugh. The other boy looked delighted with this accomplishment.

James was the first to speak. "Malfoy?" James said, gobsmacked. He looked back and forth between the two younger boys. "Is this a joke?"

"No! We bumped into them in Diagon Alley, went for a drink together and Dad invited them to our barbecue." Albus said.

"But Draco Malfoy? He was a Death Eater and Dad's Slytherin nemesis!" James choked out.

Scorpius shrugged it off.

"You're Scorpius Malfoy?" Teddy finally spoke. Instead of the outrage of James, he was looking at Scorpius with an unexpected look of wary curiosity.

The blond boy nodded.

"How much do you know about your family?" he said slowly.

Scorpius frowned at the non sequitur. Quite a lot on his mother's side actually; his grandparents had been big on teaching Scorpius the importance of knowing one's roots and made sure he could list at least ten generations of Greengrass ancestors on demand.

"Um, my mum was a Greengrass, and her mother was from the Yaxley family originally. On my Malfoy side, my grandmother was originally a Black."

James' eyes widened with the admission and he looked between Teddy and Scorpius with a look of dawning apprehension.

Teddy smiled slowly. "And my grandmother is your great aunt." He said, openly grinning now at the look of shock he received from Scorpius.

"Wait! So your grandmother is Andromeda?" he said in disbelief. The princess tied to the rock in the ocean.

Teddy nodded.

"So we're cousins?!" Scorpius smiled widely at the boy as he swiftly abandoned all thoughts of future antagonisations. They were family!

"Well, technically, something a bit more complicated; but yeah." Teddy laughed at Scorpius' unaffected look of happiness. "You know I'm not a pureblood?" he had stopped laughing and looked right into Scorpius' eyes with something bordering on defiance.

Scorpius felt his smile falter. "So?" he shrugged.

"So you're not a pureblood fanatic?" James asked bluntly.

Scorpius scowled. This was clearly about his name. Obviously his dad's prediction about people's judgemental reactions had been spot on. Maybe he was even right about insisting on Burbage. Scorpius couldn't be bothered to go through this every time he met anyone. He sighed and wondered how exactly the Malfoy family had behaved to have gained such a horrible reputation. Well, as it obviously involved blood purism and the Dark Lord maybe it was for the best if he just left that log unturned. He decided to try something risky to get out of this uncomfortable territory.

"Mate, you is callin' me blood racist though!" He pinched his t-shirt at the shoulder and brandished it. "You fink wiv bare threads like dis, I is hatin' on Muggleborns?" He adopted an exaggerated version of Shawn and was relieved to see that it caused the two boys to crack up with laughter.

"Mate, I just can't believe that came out of a pureblood's mouth!" Teddy said, grinning. "Alright, Scorpius, we've seen you on a skateboard, but what about on a broom?"

"Round here?" Scorpius said, looking with a frown at the surrounding Muggle houses.

"My dad has got some great wards on this place. Our back garden is pretty sheltered by trees anyway, but as long as we stay above the property boundaries, Muggles won't see us. Or they might, but they won't care and they'll forget, I'm not sure which," James told him.

"Come on, they've got loads of brooms to chose from, although no Supremes I'm afraid!" Teddy gestured them back towards the house.

Scorpius began to follow the two older boys up the path that lead to the back garden, feeling suddenly extremely happy. He had actually met his actual flesh and blood cousin! Merely days after first hearing about him! He had always dreamt of something like this happening and now it really was! Of course, in his excitement he conveniently forgot that up until a few minutes before, he had been ready to brush the two of them off as a pair of arrogant bullies.

A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked back towards the road and saw Albus slumping under a tree in front of the house, looking miserable. He paused, looking back and forth between the retreating backs of James and Teddy and the sulking boy and felt torn.

"You coming too, Albus?" he called. The boy looked up sharply.

"Do you want me to?"

Scorpius tried not to show his exasperation at his lack of confidence and obvious insecurity. It was painful. "Yes! Now come on!"

Albus' face broke into a shy smile and he was on to his feet in a flash. "Okay!"


	10. The Cracks Begin to Show

**A/N** **1.** **So, as you may be able to tell I wrote this chapter at the start of May in the height of my UK general election fever! I had a lot of fun listening to and adapting real political debate (mostly about immigration/housing, &amp; big thanks to the muggle version of Nigellus Mirage for giving me so much to work with) into something that resembles an anti muggle born agenda. It was surprisingly easy. Sorry if this seems kind of dry and politics isn't your thing but I promise it's relevant and not totally self indulgent! Plenty of juicy stuff will happen later on in the evening I promise.**

**A/N 2. Dear Sulador. Thank you for your kind review! I also need to thank you for giving my story another chance and I hope you do the same again this week. Your threat doesn't please me at all. Despite being somewhat put out by all your corrections, and while I still don't have a beta, you have actually caused me to be more thorough with my proofreading. I do need to add however, that I hope you weren't thanking **_**me**_** for Pete's concern over your RL friends. It is not my style to leave a fake review just to answer a guest quickly! I answer all my reviews either privately, or like this. (It's been very frustrating waiting till now to address this, especially as I don't even know if you'll read it!)**

**A/N 3. On that note, thank you so much to the lovely guest for your review! I simply loved receiving it! :)**

**The Cracks Begin to Show**

Hermione left her office and flooed home at 3pm. It was a Friday and one of the last left of the summer before term started on September the 1st. After a gruelling, yet very successful week she felt she deserved an ever so slightly longer weekend. Once upon a time, this thought would be have hastily quashed, but it was safe to say although still extremely driven, Hermione's work ethic had mellowed slightly over the years. She actually allowed herself to relax every now and again (as long as all the work was done of course.)

Hermione dropped her briefcase on her kitchen table, slipped off her loafers and pulled off her tights. She opened up the windows to air the stuffy kitchen and switched on the wizarding wireless, pleased to hear she was catching the start of the afternoon play. She picked a recipe book from the shelf next to the fridge and flicked through it. Harry was having a barbecue that evening and she decided she would use her free afternoon to make him a desert. Hermione knew her efforts with muggle cooking were successful per say, but she enjoyed the physical reprieve it provided from the endless whirl of thoughts of work.

When the cake mix was divided between two cases and in the oven, Hermione placed the radio under the window, turned it up, poured herself a glass of water and stepped through the backdoor and outside into her modest garden. The rain starved lawn crunched under her bare feet as she walked to the deckchair she had placed under the kitchen window. She settled herself down in it, laid back and popped on a pair of sunglasses. The sky was a stunning deep blue, crisscrossed with vapour trails of aeroplanes taking people away on their summer holidays. She hitched her skirt up to her thighs and relaxed in the heat. Who needed a holiday abroad when London felt like the Mediterranean?

"That was '_Cross the Bridge_' written by Jenny Holmes and produced by the Wireless Players Company. The time is 3.30pm and now it's time for the news with Jeremy Wick." The soothing voice of the radio DJ drifted from the kitchen window behind Hermione's head as a pigeon cooed in the distance.

"Thank you Mavis. Today's top story. Terrorist group Svoboda are feared to have struck again, this time on a small Alpine village in North West Slovenia. One witch and ten muggles are confirmed dead, Twelve muggles missing though presumed dead." Hermione shifted in her seat. "The deaths is being blamed on a local landslide but intelligence suggests that the pureblood supremacist terrorist group is behind it. International leaders have been quick to condemn the attack and talks are currently being scheduled between heads of states of the bordering countries over a course of action." Hermione couldn't help but notice it was only after a witch had been killed that the leaders had begun to take it seriously. It was always the same.

Hermione was stirred from her ruminations by the jingle signalling the end of the news and the return of Mavis the DJ. "It is 3:35pm and is now time for the Daily Politics Show. Joining me today we have Deputy Treasurer for the opposition, the Wizarding Independence Party, Percy Weasley, and Deputy Minister for the Social Democrats, Cassandra Morgan. Today on the show my guests will be talking about that most controversial of topics: Social Mobility." The two politicians greeted the host and listeners and Hermione sat up a little straighter. Percy Weasley's nasal voice had barely changed since school. Hermione half expected him to start extolling the benefits of spending the entire weekend in the library.

The two began debating, political buzzwords and slogans rolling off their tongues with ease. Hermione had never really heard Percy Weasley speak in his official capacity and she was curious to hear what years and years of political manoeuvring had done to him. Would he still be the same, simpering brown-noser he had been under Fudge? Predictably neither politicians seemed to be focusing solely on the topic of the debate, both using it instead as a platform to push their party's policy.

"We have to look at the facts here, Mavis" Percy said. "Unemployment is going up. Wizards and witches who previously would have been able to find work, are finding themselves with less options and are unable to support themselves at their families. The WIP is the only party out there who is willing to say what everybody is thinking: with more and more muggle borns flooding our job market and taking the positions that would previously been taken by pure and half bloods, we are actively encouraging the children of older families to have a worse life."

"Such statements have not been heard in a great many years, Mr Weasley." The host replied.

"Of course, it is an uncomfortable issue, but we believe that the politically correct government has been so scared to alienate it's voters and be brushed with the same stick as those supporters of You-Know-Who, that they have actively buried their heads in the sand and made the situation ten times worse." Cassandra Morgan spoke up at this point.

"I have to disagree with you there Mr Weasley. You cannot make the children that are coming into our society the scapegoats for our economic problems."

"Fine, not the children, but the adults allowing it to happen." Percy interrupted.

"Yes, there is currently a sluggish economy," Cassandra continued smoothly. "But this slump is to be expected after the economic boom we saw immediately after the war. Naturally there will be a downturn in employment, but we have to learn from the lessons of the past and not heap blame on a group that doesn't deserve it. The problem is not that muggle borns are filling the only jobs available, but that currently there are not enough positions being created. This is something that the government is striding to correct."

"You must admit though that for social mobility to occur: for a poor, gifted, muggle born wizard to rise to the top, then someone must fall to take his place. This could be my child, it could be yours and you would hate for it to happen. But you are dismissing these valid concerns as prejudice."

"It _is_ prejudice. You are exploiting people's fears, instead of addressing them. It is a deep injustice when birth is destiny. Our government has encouraged fair chances and real freedom."

"By putting in place arbitrary quotas for muggle borns in government and business? You say this is a true meritocracy but how is this correct when you are still basing a persons suitability for the job on their birth status? You cannot have it both ways."

"Mr Weasley, We cannot be ideological about muggle borns. That is how we ended up in the last war. We have to be pragmatic, practical and understand that muggle borns bring something new to society, and the quotas are a practical solution."

"I agree with you Mrs Morgan, but the WIP believes, and so does most of the magical population by this point, that we have reached breaking point where our culture is being lost, traditions are going in favour of muggle ones." The host cut back in at this point.

"Mr Weasley, how do you react to a certain member of your party stating, and this is a direct quote: '_The barely magical children that Burbage High are introducing to our society are polluting and weakening the blood even further" _Percy could be heard shifting in his seat. He coughed nervously.

"I cannot condone such rogue talk; it is the policy of the WIP to focus on culture and tradition as being lost. I truly represent my party's and Nigellus Mirage's personal views when I say that I do not support blood prejudice. However, as for Burbage High it is a major part of the problem, if not the root. I do know Miss Granger personally, and while I must admit that she is a very powerful witch, that does not mean that she is qualified to be leading the instruction on the next generation of witches and wizards."

Hermione's ears rang as she was inevitably dragged into the argument and she opened her eyes, staring unseeingly at the sky. "She is a prime example of one of the hypocritical liberal elite. Muggle born, extremely talented, and she flourished due to the education she received at Hogwarts. Education that she is now denying children by pretending to offer them a better equivalent at Burbage." Her pulse quickened under the unfairness of the accusation and she felt an indignant anger surge through her. Quickly the sun was becoming too hot and she gulped down half of her water.

Percy Weasley's annoying voice went on. "We know that what is being taught in that school is not equipping children with the knowledge of what it truly means to be part of our society."

"Can I point out, that Burbage is not taking students from Hogwarts, but mostly offers an education to those Hogwarts overlooks. For example, those who cannot afford to attend the fee paying Hogwarts and who don't receive scholarships." Cassandra interrupted. _Thank you Mrs Morgan,_ Hermione thought, scowling as Percy's voice cut back in.

"Please, let me continue. For those flooding into our society, how many more muggle centric things must we put up with them introducing? For example; the infiltration of muggle medicine into our own practices. The catastrophic results that have occurred from muggle medication reacting unpredictably with magic. The warnings were there, but medi witches and wizards naively dismissed them. How many more deaths must there be?"

"Yes, that was extremely unfortunate, and in hindsight more experimentation should have taken place, but our potion masters and healers are currently experimenting in the labs on safe ways that muggle medicine can be combined with magic."

"And the infiltration of muggle entertainment into peoples homes." He continued, ignoring her response. "Whereas once a family may have entertained themselves over a game of chess, gathering around the wireless for a good play, or even the simple pleasure of reading; they are now sitting slumped on sofas glued to muggle televisions, passively being entertained. Our culture is being lost, and no one in the current government seems to mind. It is stamping out the thirst for knowledge, the passion for magic itself, and the rich intricacies of our society."

At this point, Mavis brought the debate back on track and Hermione tuned out. Bloody Percy Weasley and his strangely convincing argument. Apparently he'd turned into quite the emotive public speaker. Even more bad PR for the school, as this time, the Wizarding Independence Party representative had managed to sound almost sensible. The party had made a good decision employing someone as logical and bright as he was, and not the usual type of old cretin spouting backwards, prejudice diatribe. It was typical of the WIP to use any opportunity to push their own anti muggle agenda, but once you actually paid attention to what Percy had been saying, you couldn't help being drawn in...

Though of course she could do without Burbage being scapegoated for the country's ills. Yet again, as with Malfoy, (though Hermione was quick to quash that thread of thought) people seemed hell bent on accusing her school as breeding a generation of uncultured philistines. And that was so unfair. The brightest, most talented children at her school were hungry to be part of the wizarding world and were keen to offer their talents to its betterments. _There must be some thing I can do to appease people to make them stop attacking us, without it looking like we're bending to their prejudice. _

Suddenly the witch couldn't stand to be in the sun any longer. She had finished her glass of water and her hair was sticking scratchily to her sticky back. She went into the house and decided that she may as well go to Harry's early. She turned off the radio, removed the cake from the oven, put it on a rack to cool and went upstairs to shower and change.

45 Minutes later Hermione flooed into Harry Potter's living room, cake in hand, and paused on her way to the kitchen door. She distinctly heard two male voices, but one had an awfully familiar drawling tone to it. She frowned, she didn't know any friends of Harry's who sounded that posh, and she had thought that this evening was just for close friends and family. She crossed to the door, a small frown appearing between her brows and pushed it open. The elegantly slumped figure of Draco Malfoy was perched on a stool at Harry's island unit in the middle of the room, idly twirling his wand between his fingers. She froze. _What the HELL is Malfoy doing here?! _He looked round at her and an amused smile lit up his features.

"Hermione!" Harry said, looking up at her in surprise. "I wasn't expecting anyone until six!" _Is that what you've got to say to me, Harry? Not, sorry I didn't tell you that Malfoy was making a surprise appearance at my kitchen table, _she thought wildly. Harry glanced nervously at the blond and back at her. He cleared his throat. "I er, bumped into Malfoy in Diagon Alley earlier. We got chatting, and um, I invited him back. I did text you..." Hermione's eyes widened. Harry _knew_ that she was crap at keeping her muggle phone charged and on. She didn't even know where it was.

"I thought you said only family were coming, Potter?" Malfoy drawled.

"Hermione is family! She's basically my sister." Harry told him, walking towards her.

"I'll explain, later. Trust me." Harry whispered in her ear through gritted teeth as he took the cake off her.

"You better." She whispered back, trying to calm down. Her palms were prickling uncomfortably, and she looked at Malfoy nervously. Ever since the debacle that had been his son's interview, her thoughts had returned again and again to the blond wizard. After a few days of obsessively and then tiredly re living the episode it had gained that kind of fussy, exaggerated quality when a memory has been so studied she wasn't sure if what she was remembering was real or imagined. A screen memory. She really ought to buy a pensieve.

In the end she had pulled herself together after trying to examine why exactly it was bothering her so much; she was still a logical witch, despite this rather startling evidence to the contrary. She had decided it was her lack of professionalism that had been keeping her up at night, the fact it was Draco Malfoy was neither here nor there.

But now as she looked at him slouched at Harry's table, grey eyes lazily lingering on her face, his old smirk twisting up the corners of his lips in a joke that only he knew, she suddenly felt incredibly exposed. He opened his mouth and spoke, but it was only a few moments later that Hermione realised it had been directed at her. She blinked stupidly. "What?" She croaked. So much for the cordial professional interaction she had rehearsed for their next meeting. Malfoy laughed loudly and Hermione noticed Harry's mouth quirk up in amusement as he busied himself putting the cake in the fridge.

"I'm not going to bite, Granger. You look like I'm about to eat you." He drawled, mouth twisting again in a smirk. She baulked at his choice of words.

"I- um, I'm sorry, this is just a bit of a surprise." She managed to say.

"Come on Hermione," Harry was back at her side, leading her away from the door and into the kitchen as if she couldn't manage it herself. "What can I get you to drink? I was just telling Malfoy here about my meeting today in Diagon Alley." He deposited Hermione near the sink and she leant back on the counter, grateful that he hadn't tried to make her take a seat next to Malfoy.

"What meeting, Harry? And, er, a tea please." She said, attempting to recover her composure. _And please tell me what this man is doing in your kitchen and why you're both acting as if it's the most normal thing in the world?_

"Well, I haven't told you, as I know how busy you've been recently, but I've been working on a small business idea. I've been at my lawyers and Gringots today applying for a patent and working out the finances." He said, getting out three mugs and switching on the kettle.

"Wow, Harry - that's - what is it?" _Okay, don't tell me. I can pretend this situation is totally normal too. _She tried to focus on what he was telling her and not the blond elephant in the room.

"Well for quite a while now I've been using and making charms and wards that mean that muggles can take part in my events and parties."

"I've noticed. Like at your birthday? I meant to ask you about that, but got distracted by whole Daily Post disaster." She muttered, glancing at Malfoy who raised his eyebrows suggestively. She valiantly ignored him.

"Don't worry, but yes, exactly. The muggle can see magic taking place around them, but they'll accept it instead of it scaring them. When they leave the warded area they'll forget what they saw. This is because when the memory was formed it never quite took hold, meaning no need for something as strong as an obliviate. The ward formed a kind of barrier between them and their environment and stops them from forming solid memories of anything they consider abnormal. It's kind of like pouring oil on the surface of water. The memory of the magic just slides off." He explained, pouring out the boiling water into the cups.

"And you worked this out alone?" Hermione couldn't hide her astonishment.

"Hermione, I'm not one of your dolt students who's unexpectedly done well on a test." He said, with a frown.

"That's not what I meant, Harry."_ Don't you understand how difficult what you've achieved is?_

He continued: "Well you know how I got into runes a few years ago? I'm using that in combination with some altered memory and muggle repelling charms." He shrugged as if he didn't realise how advanced that kind of magic was. Hermione knew it was sincere and not some attempt at false modesty. "I need to work out exactly how to present the service as a package and how to sell it. I know the market is small at the moment, but imagine the potential?" His eyes were wide and sincere as he began to gesticulate in enthusiasm. "Businesses could suddenly triple their number of clients. Wizards wouldn't have to live in isolated communities! Muggles and wizards could spend time together and not in completely separate worlds!" He trailed off with a glance at Malfoy as if slightly embarrassed at how heartfelt his words had become, and turned back to finish off the tea. Hermione looked at the blond too, but there was no sneer, no sarcastic words ready to spit out at Harry's idealism. What had he said to her at the interview? That muggles were self destructive, ignorant idiots? But instead he was watching Harry with something that seemed like admiration, but surely couldn't be... Harry continued, "There are still a few kinks I need to work out with the spell work maybe with someone who actually know's what they're doing and isn't just self taught..."

"Well Harry, of course I'll look through it if you want me to!" She said as he handed out the tea.

"No, no Herm, you have enough on your plate. I've got someone else who's already agreed to anyway." He glanced back at Malfoy with a strange smile.

"That's me!" the blond announced, slapping his hand on the table. Harry shook his head, looking bemused.

"You?" Hermione spoke before she could stop herself.

"Yes, me. I did runes and arithmancy to NEWT, and that's something I think Potter could use a bit of help with if his terrible efforts at calculations are anything to go by." He said without malice. It was almost like - teasing, if that were possible. What had happened between Harry and Malfoy to make them seem, almost, _friendly?_ Hermione noticed that Malfoy had misunderstood her either on purpose or by accident. She hadn't meant to question Malfoy's academic capabilities, she knew he had always been very clever, but it was his eagerness to help in a project that could potentially bring wizards and muggles closer together that she couldn't work out.

She smiled at Harry, trying to disguise her agitation at the situation and instead to convey how sincerely impressed she was "Well congratulations Harry, that's really, really great."

"Thanks, Herm. What with Al going off to school soon I can't really justify being a stay at home Dad anymore... I really enjoyed having a purpose again that wasn't focussed on the boys this summer what with this and learning guitar for the band." He gave a small shrug. "Anyway, I've still got to present it to the ministry for thorough testing and approval before I can think about putting it on the market. I'm optimistic they'll go for it though. Well, the current government might..." He left unsaid the uncomfortable implications of the WIP winning the next election.

Hermione took a sip of tea and glanced at Malfoy, mind still buzzing with unanswered questions as to what on earth was going on. He was staring out of the window with a serene smile on his face. She followed his gaze and saw Harry's two sons, Teddy Lupin and Scorpius bombing about on brooms.

"Harry! Look! The boys are playing together!" She said, distracted momentarily from the enigma. Harry came to stand beside her and took in the sight with a smile.

"I know, it's great isn't it? I think that's the work of one certain blond wizard out there. Scorpius is a great boy, Malfoy, you must be proud."

"I am, you have no idea. I don't understand how I've got so lucky. He's the best thing to ever happen to me." He said quietly. Hermione looked sharply at Malfoy's profile, taking in the almost wistful look. Harry chuckled.

"We all feel like that, Malfoy, believe me."

"No, it's not the same... Scorp is - He's so good, so caring. Sometimes I wonder why he doesn't just look around him and realise he doesn't need to be here. He can leave and have everything. Instead he sticks with me." He shook his head. "He'll realise that one day. Realise that he's been massively fucking short changed by having me as a dad. I don't deserve him." His voice was matter of fact, but his eyes looked haunted as they stared wide eyed and unfocused into the garden. Hermione glanced at Harry who was gazing at Malfoy with a frown and biting his lip worriedly.

Hermione felt like she was missing something enormous as the mood in the room shifted dramatically. Who on earth was this man? What happened to the arrogance and pride Hermione had encountered the other day? Why was he letting them hear such honest thoughts that left him completely open and vulnerable? These were not the things you tell to two people with so much unpleasant history between them. If this is what Azkaban had done to Malfoy then suddenly she realised she had to re evaluate some of her pervious judgements. _Though what is he even doing here in the first place? _

"Malfoy - Draco." Harry said, softly. The blond's head snapped around and he smiled strangely.

"My name's got a nice ring to it coming out of your mouth, Potter." Harry snorted and continued speaking.

"You can tell that Scorpius really loves and cares for you. You must be an excellent father." Malfoy grimaced and looked back out of the window.

"I'm nothing compared to you Potter, you can give your boys everything."

"It's not about possessions, Malfoy. God knows, if anything my boys are completely spoilt. Ginny never lets me forget it."

"Maybe, but I haven't even been able to provide anything. I haven't even _been_ there for most of his life. I try now, but sometimes It's so hard... I just - sometimes it feels like it's too much and I just _freeze._ And that's when I make things worse. Scorp literally has to drag me out of the dark and back into the world. And it's not fair on a child, to have to deal with this. But I can't help it, something's wrong with me." Suddenly his features transformed from their look of self disgust into a serene calm. He smiled, as if remembering something private, his eyes still tracking the boys through the air.

Hermione stood stock still, her brows knitted and bewildered thoughts chasing through her head. What he was so honestly describing did not sound healthy at all. He sounded almost like he could be suffering from depression. She looked at Harry who was staring at Malfoy with a worried frown. He glanced at her, noticing her expression and shook his head slightly before launching what she could recognise was an attempt at distraction.

"Hermione, you should have heard the boys in here earlier!" His cheerful tone was at painful odds with the melancholic atmosphere, but Malfoy didn't seem to notice that anything was strange. His head snapped up and his face lit up once again with a smile. "I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner, but they all raced in here, practically bursting with excitement!"

"You'll never get rid of him Potter! He'll be wanting to come over here every day until the rest of the holidays!"

"He's more than welcome. I do mean that." Harry said, slowly. "Andromeda is always keen to have Teddy taken off her hands for a few hours a day. He's got a lot of energy and she's getting on." Comprehension dawned on Hermione, the image of the faded Black family tree tapestry having been ingrained into her memory through hours and hours of bored inspection during 'cleaning' sprees at Grimmauld Place all those years ago.

"I may take you up on that Potter." He said, sincerely. "I haven't seen him this... childlike, maybe even ever." He turned to Hermione, "You see Granger, us purebloods are all related." He said, the familiar smirk back in place, even if it was at odds with the undercurrent of distaste she could hear in his voice. "Teddy is technically my second cousin. Scorp doesn't have much family, and today was the first time he's even met another witch or wizard his own age. Well, except at your open day, but he wasn't really in the mood for socialising..."

"But does he have any friends? Who does he play with?" She said in surprise. Malfoy's eyes were defiant as he regarded her.

"Muggle children we live near." Hermione didn't have time to verbalise just how she felt at this revelation as they were distracted by a scuffle that seemed to have broken out in the garden. Brooms lay abandoned beside them as James and Albus wrestled each other to the ground. Their shouts and screams jarred through the open window, reaching Harry who looked up from preparing the lamb kebabs.

"Oh for god's sake. What is _wrong_ with those boys?" He threw down the meat back into its packet, washed his hands quickly and strode out the back door to break up the fight.

Suddenly without Harry's presence the kitchen felt awkwardly silent. Hermione studied her tea and desperately tried to remember her carefully rehearsed apology. She felt completely thrown. After the interview she had written Malfoy off as a bigot, but he was still a parent who deserved an apology for her unprofessionalism. Not for him personally, but for Scorpius and their future relationship as teacher and student. But after what she had just heard, and the fact that Harry and him seemed to be getting on as if they were long lost friends... And the care in which Harry had been treating him...To say she was confused was an understatement. The silence stretched and she opened her mouth to speak, to say anything, but Malfoy beat her to it. His voice was unexpectedly close and she jumped slightly. She hadn't heard him slip quietly from his seat, so intently had she been thinking.

"Listen to me Granger." He spoke quickly and loomed over her, pressing her back against the work surface. She was unable to move away, to get any space between them. Bizarrely she felt like a mouse before a cat and her heart rate began to increase exponentially to Malfoy's closeness. He was standing merely inches from her and from her vantage point, and with his face illuminated by the afternoon light streaming through the window behind her, suddenly she could tell how tired he looked. He had deep, permanent looking blue tinged bags under his eyes and a spray of pale stubble across his chin. His eyes were squinting slightly in the sun, and she stared back into them, forcing herself to match the intensity of his gaze. The light was picking up the different shards of colour within them. What appeared simply grey from a distance seemed to consist of a complex fractal structure of splinters of pale and dark blues, green and even a couple of flecks of amber...

"Still scared of me?" He said quietly, his mouth twisting in a smirk. She was thankful for the distraction, and hurriedly looked away from those eyes. She could feel his breath on her face and it smelt surprisingly of peppermint tea. Well actually she found that she wasn't scared at all, and of course she never had been, merely wary. Apparently her teenage instincts had been right, up close he wasn't that threatening at all. In fact, he looked like he needed several good meals and a week long sleep. She straightened up, bridging the considerable gap between their heights by only a couple of centimetres, but adding about a mile to her self confidence.

"No. And I never was." She said, resolutely. He raised his eyebrows.

"You should be." His eyes flicked over her head, no doubt to check on what was going on in the garden. Hermione's resolution to apologise for the interview suddenly died, as did some of her confusion on how to deal with this strange version of Malfoy. She could deal with his attempt at intimidation easily.

"Is that a threat?" She spoke, quietly.

"It can be. It depends on whether or not you're going to let your issues with me affect how you treat my son." _This is about his son, again?_

"Malfoy, I -"

"Because if I find out you've been picking on him... He's different Granger. Whatever ideas you've got, do not let them mar your judgement. He would have had enough of that at Hogwarts." Hermione swallowed, realising with dismay that Malfoy actually believed that she would bully Scorpius. Is that how she had come across in the interview? Malfoy closed his eyes for a spilt second too long to be a normal blink, as if resting them. His shoulders sagged slightly and he stepped back, giving her a bit of space. Hermione blinked in surprise. Before today, in all the time she'd known him she didn't think she'd even seen him do so much as appear less than one hundred percent composed at all times. His smirk was gone and his next words had lost their threat, as if he'd decided to give up the intimidation. "I thought you'd be different, but clearly I was wrong." He muttered.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I thought, you know, after what you did for me at my trial, that you - well, it doesn't matter. Clearly I was deluded. Shouldn't have expected anything less from someone like you." His eyes narrowed as he spoke the last sentence and Hermione felt her hackles rise. Here they were again, back on familiar territory. _Completely unpredictable. Who are you trying to be, Malfoy?_

"Someone like _me? _What, a mudblood?" She responded glibly. Just because he may be acting completely unbalanced she wasn't going to let him get away with any slurs on her blood status this time. Malfoy's face transformed, his lips curling into an ugly sneer.

"Someone like _you._ Someone with a massive fucking superiority complex and an even bigger chip on their shoulder. A dangerous combination for somebody like my son." Hermione let a gasp escape as she realised the implications of what he said, and how she had misinterpreted his previous comment. "Of course you thought I meant _that_ Granger."

"How can you blame me?" Suddenly, in the shock of his unfair opinion of her she found her voice. "What reason have you given me to think any different, Malfoy? You can't just come back into our lives, 14 years later, expecting us to know what's going on with you? All I know to go off is what you were like at school, and last time I saw you we were in my office and you almost called me a mudblood, in front of your son no less. Why shouldn't I assume that is typical language and an attitude he's been brought up with?" She had clearly struck a nerve, his eyes flickered down to the floor momentarily before coming up to meet hers again.

"I'm sorry. It really isn't." He muttered, almost too softly to catch. "Anger brings out the worst in me." He gave her an awkward half smile. Hermione was thrown. She felt the indignation leave her as suddenly as it had arrived, and she deflated. Malfoy was apologising? What alternate reality had she stumbled in to? She felt as if she had been one step behind during the entire conversation. He looked incredibly vulnerable and she was suddenly struck by just how expressive his face had become. Where was the cold mask of indifference that he'd no doubt been wearing the rest of his life?

"Listen - Malfoy." She said, _finally_ about to say the apology she'd meant to before being distracted by his strange mood swings. But he had reached up and gently pulled out a strand of her hair from behind her ear. His pale, long fingers were mere centimetres from her face and she froze, the words dying abruptly on her lips again. Her eyes widened and she gazed into his, but he was busy examining her hair with all the concentration of a collector studying an antique, holding it up in the light. An uncomfortable tingle went down her neck.

"The sun is making your hair _beautiful. _It's golden. I never realised before. And fuck, it's so _soft."_ He flicked the end of the strand back and forth between his two longest fingers and frowned, before meeting her gaze again. Something must have alerted him to the fact he was behaving _extremely weirdly_ (perhaps Hermione's comically gaping mouth, or her eyes widened in shock) as he abruptly dropped his arm, took another step back and cleared his throat nervously.

Luckily for Malfoy, the awkwardness only lasted a couple of seconds before Harry burst back into the kitchen. Malfoy turned quickly and returned to his seat and Hermione let out an enormous breath. She raised a hand to tuck the hair back behind her and realised her hands were ever so slightly trembling. She quickly brought them back down to clutch at the granite surface before anyone could see. She bit her lip and glanced at Malfoy who was studiously watching Harry. _What the hell just happened? _

"Malfoy, I don't know what you've done with that boy, but you need to tell me! If you think you've been raising him badly, then you are very wrong." Harry said, dragging a hand through his famously messy hair, cheerfully not noticing, or if she knew him better, resolutely ignoring the strange atmosphere. He walked back to where he'd been preparing the meat and picked up where he left off. "Mine on the other hand, are totally out of control. I can't _ever_ say the right thing to make them get on. James picks on Al, with Teddy's help, no doubt, and Al is cheeky back to James. They constantly wind each other up. I don't understand why?! This time, over who pulled out of the dive first! They were actually _fighting_ over it." He shook his head, hands roughly shoving chunks of lamb and pepper on to the skewers. "Then, Scorpius, calm as anything, diffuses the situation with only a few words!" Harry shook his head with a rueful smile. "Hermione, you are going to have a real treat with that boy." She smiled weakly in return.

"I told you he's an angel. What's the time? When are the rest of your guests coming?" Malfoy said suddenly.

"Um, it's coming up to six. I think they'll be here soon. What do you want to do?"

"Well... Scorp ls clearly he's having the time of his life and I'm feeling... quite tired." He trailed off, glancing so quickly at the witch she nearly missed it.

"Yes! Okay, why don't I set you up in the spare room, you can sleep the rest of it off and head off later, or tomorrow morning." Harry said, moving to the sink to wash his hands again. _Sleep the rest of what off...? _Hermione thought.

"Don't push your luck Potter. I know you're enjoying having me here, but don't think I'm extending this visit to a sleepover." He said, laughing.

"Yeah sure Malfoy, in your dreams. Come on, I'll tell Scorp where you are when they're bored of flying." Harry walked to the door and after one last searching look into the garden Malfoy slid off his stool and followed him out, this time not sparing a glance at Hermione.

As the men left the room Hermione sagged, not having realised until that point how tense she had been. Her shoulders ached and she slumped down at the big kitchen table and rested her head on her hands, thoughts churning wildly through her mind. Something was clearly up with Malfoy, and she could tell Harry knew what. She nursed her cold tea, mind running through each confusing conversation, every unexpected expression she'd caught, trying to think what it all meant. And just then, when he touched her hair... Was he drunk? Though he didn't smell like alcohol.

After a while, yet before Harry had returned downstairs, loud noises and voices in the living room alerted Hermione to the arrival of Ginny, her boyfriend Dominic, George Weasley, his wife and ex Gryffindor, Angelina and their two small children Fred and Roxanne. Hermione breathed in steadily and tried to arrange a pleasant expression on her face as she stood to greet them.

The familiar yet abrasively raucous atmosphere the Weasleys forever carried with them erupted into the quiet kitchen. The two children chased around with the energy of of highly wound springs. To Hermione's relief they soon bombed out of the back door to find their older cousins. Hermione said hello to the adults, the typical words of greeting tripping dutifully off her tongue though her mind was upstairs with the two men.

"Hey, you alright sweetheart?" Ginny was saying to her. Hermione blinked and tried to pull herself together, nodding.

"Hey look! It's that boy! The one I saw earlier!" George was exclaiming loudly, pointing out the window to Angelina.

"God, you're right. He's the spitting image of Malfoy..." Angelina said slowly. She turned frowning to Hermione. "It isn't his son. Is it?" The room went silent as they all looked between the boy who was greeting the two youngest Weasleys on the lawn and Hermione who was nervously looking at the door for Harry's return. When he still didn't appear and the silence had stretched slightly too long she admitted that yes, actually, it was.

George let out a long whistle. "Wow, isn't he a chip off the old block. Um, I kind of feel like I'm missing something though. What is junior Malfoy doing _here?" _Hermione thought fast.

"Well, I wasn't there, but apparently Harry bumped into them earlier in Diagon Alley and - he thought it would be nice for Scorpius to meet his cousin." She lied. "I met him a couple of weeks ago at his interview for Burbage and he seemed like a nice boy, so I told Harry and he must have agreed..." She trailed off, looking anxiously at the surrounding puzzled faces.

"So, is Malfoy _here?" _It was Ginny who spoke, a look of absolute disbelief on her face. Hermione quailed slightly under the combined gazes of everyone on the room.

"Where is he?" George said quietly.

"Um, they're upstairs. I'm sure Harry will be down soon." It was clearly an unwelcome statement. Ginny's eyes widened dramatically and she glanced at Dominic.

"Why am I not surprised by that?" Dominic boomed imperiously and Hermione span to face him.

"What do you mean by that?" She said, quietly. Ginny's eyes whipped between them.

"Well you know how Harry always was with Malfoy at school, Herm, I've told Dom. I always thought that maybe, you know, he harboured secret feelings for him." She said, falteringly.

"_What?" _Hermione said, in complete shock. Were they both standing in Harry's kitchen, really insinuating what she thought they were? She looked at Ginny in utter disbelief. "They _hated_ each other at school! What are you talking about?!"

"Well, what else is going on up there?" She said, looking sheepish.

"Absolutely unacceptable behaviour." Dominic was saying to George. "When he is meant to looking after our children. Leaving them unsupervised with the son of a Death Eater! He's probably completely rotten, as far as we know." Hermione swelled with rage as she turned to him.

"Harry is upstairs because he is sorting out the spare room for Malfoy who needed to rest. He is unwell. Something is wrong with him." She said shortly. "As for what you are accusing Harry of, I think you should be absolutely ashamed of yourselves." She glared at Ginny who had the grace to look abashed. She didn't really care about Dom's opinions but Hermione was horrified to see that they were rubbing off on her usually open minded friend. "I just can't believe you'd immediately jump to those conclusions! And unless you hadn't noticed, Dominic, the kids are not unsupervised, I am here. Ginny, you should know what Harry was _actually_ like at school - always going out of his way to help everyone. He hasn't changed. Malfoy - well he seems to have changed quite a bit." She glared the older man, realising for the first time that her instinctive dislike of him may actually be based on something very real, and not just the typical protectiveness of a close friend. He looked back, impassively.

"Hey Hermione, chill out, that's not what we meant." George was by her side, rubbing her arm and trying to diffuse the mood. He glanced at his sister. "Right Gin?"

"Of course, I'm sorry Hermione." She said. Hermione let in and out an enormous steadying breath. It had not been lost on her that Ginny's boyfriend had not agreed. "It's just you know, this is Malfoy. It's very confusing." _For you and me both._ Hermione thought.

Harry eventually returned downstairs with plenty of words of apology to make up for missing their arrival and delaying the start of the barbecue, but he remained tight lipped over questions about Malfoy. He took in Hermione's shaken appearance and mistaking it for the after affects of meeting Malfoy reassured her again that he'd explain everything later.

The evening progressed smoothly and Hermione calmed down enough to begin to enjoy herself, though her mind kept straying to Harry's spare bedroom and its mysterious occupant. The playful shouts and screams of the kids, the chink of wine glasses and the scrumptious smell of barbecued meat filled the warm summer air. Hermione saw first hand why Scorpius had gained such a fan in Harry. He was nothing like the surly boy she had met before and instead was incredibly charismatic and had the other children hanging on his every word and rolling around in laughter on the grass. James and Al were getting on better than they had in a long time and the mood of the group of children was innocently joyful. He was equally charming to the adults and by the time they were clearing up Ginny whispered to her that whatever faults Malfoy had, his child raising clearly wasn't one of them.

Finally, hours later, when the rest of the adults were still in the garden finishing off the wine by candle light, and the kids were gathered around a DVD in the living room, Hermione managed to get Harry on his own in the kitchen.

"Spill, Harry, tell me what's going on." Harry turned around from where he was stacking the dishwasher and looked at her solemnly.

"Are we definitely alone?" He said. Hermione moved to the window, looking into the garden, taking in the shadowed, flickering forms of the adults. She pulled the blind shut and then moved to shut the door to the living room, stifling the noise of the TV. She nodded. "Ok, I'm really worried about him, Hermione." She took a seat at the island unit; the same as Malfoy had sat in earlier, and rolled her wine glass between her hands, the pale liquid sloshing around inside.

"He wasn't acting like this when I interviewed him Harry. He seems, I don't know, very unstable." She said, thinking about the moment by the sink. Harry regarded her levelly.

"Ok, this does not leave this kitchen. I'm going to tell you something that I suspect but I couldn't get Malfoy to admit." He paused and took a deep breath. "I think Malfoy was on something. Drugs." _What?_ Hermione gaped at him. _Malfoy? on muggle drugs? Has Harry gone insane? _ "Look, I know it sounds ridiculous, but you didn't see him earlier Herm. He ran and hugged me in the street! In public! I hadn't seen him in twelve years and we didn't exactly part on friendly terms! He was completely... Just not himself. He told me he'd always wanted to be friends with me. This is _Malfoy! _That is why I brought him home. God knows what situation they could have got themselves into. They're so lucky they bumped into me." Hermione just shook her head, unable to comprehend what Harry was saying. "I tried to talk to Scorpius about it, but he just fed me this line about Malfoy having overdosed on calming potion." He snorted and shook his head. "A: as if Malfoy would ever get the dosage wrong on a potion and B: that it would ever produce effects like that..."

"It might? People's magic and brain react differently to large doses of potions that affect the mind." Hermione said, latching on to this far more realistic diagnosis. Harry shook his head.

"No Hermione. I can recognise the effects, and he was definitely on something." He grimaced.

"Harry, this is Draco Malfoy. Do you honestly believe he would do something like take muggle drugs? It is _far_ more likely Scorpius told you the truth. Anyway, surely he knows the dangers? What exposure eventually does to wizards?" Harry shrugged, he clearly was not going to agree.

"Maybe he doesn't! He was in Azkaban during that whole controversy. Fine, don't believe me. Anyway, more serious is the reason why he either feels the need to take... the calming draught or drugs or whatever. You heard talking him earlier. It only got worse when I took him upstairs. I think he's really suffering, with depression or something." He trailed off, looking miserable. There was silence while they both contemplated this.

"I'm not surprised, everything he's been through. Do you think he'd see a therapist?" She said, almost for the sake of it. Harry snorted, confirming her more pessimistic, unspoken thoughts.

"Malfoy? Go to counselling? The only reason we were privy to any of that was no doubt due to complete loss of his inhibitions due to whatever he had taken. Can you really expect someone with that level of pride to see a therapist? Anyway, would one even see him? I bet you he'd find it difficult to get one at St Mungos as an ex Death Eater, which only leaves muggle options. He might not have the same old beliefs as he used to, but even that is a stretch to imagine. We're probably the only people he's spoken honestly to in a very long time."

Hermione lapsed into silence again as she thought about Harry's words. She could see where this was going. Harry's brilliantly admirable, yet maddening saving people complex was kicking in full force. Reluctantly she gave him a smile.

"I know what you want to do, Harry." She took a deep breath, "You want to get him over here, get him to help you with your warding, befriend him, try and talk to him...You have to be careful though. This is still Malfoy. He may not be capable of murder, but he is still is a wizard capable of inflicting torture and pain... I don't think you should take his behaviour today as a standard measure. He had barely changed from his old self at the interview. Why do you think he'll even accept your help?" Harry bit his lip worriedly, before answering earnestly.

"But we _do_ know he's changed for the better! He's sending Scorpius to Burbage! Isn't that proof enough? Anyway, aren't we all capable of inflicting pain or Unforgivables in the moment or if we felt they were necessary..? Please Hermione, I need your help. You can get in there. Something is going on with that family. Malfoy is struggling." He paused and spoke slowly, "I've been there. I might not know exactly what he's going through, but I've got a pretty good idea." She gazed into his wide, sincere eyes and felt her resolve to remain professionally distant crumbling. Probably she was pretty tipsy. And perhaps it wasn't all due to Harry's excellent skills at emotional manipulation. She did have a promising student to look out for, and of course deep down, her own completely _un-_professional curiosity about his father.

"Fine." His face broke into a smile and he rushed to lean opposite her on the table, putting her glass to the side and taking her hands in his.

"Hermione Granger you are my most favourite person in the whole world. He really needs us, and I feel like.. Well it's strange but I feel like I _owe_ him. Remember, I nearly killed him once."

"And you've saved his life." She shot back.

"And he sort of saved _our _lives too." Hermione knew exactly to when he was refering but she wasn't going to let him have that one easily.

"You mean, his reluctance to immediately confirm our identities to Bellatrix and his parents in Malfoy Manor may have contributed indirectly to us escaping?"

He shrugged, looking sheepish. "Well, it's not even about owing anything, I just can't with a good conscience let them go off back to whatever hell they're living in without at least trying to help in _some_ way." Hermione suddenly thought about what Ginny had said earlier, about her suspicions of Harry's feelings towards the blond. She dismissed that thought immediately, feeling petty and unsettled.

"Well, we have one concrete reason; the wellbeing of my new student. I don't know whether you're right, and he was on drugs or not, but something is wrong. He's obviously devoted to Scorp and is extremely protective, but that isn't always enough, particularly if what he was saying earlier is true..."

Suddenly Dominic was walking through the open kitchen door, a tray of empty beer bottles in his hands. Harry and Hermione broke apart and she saw him shoot a strange look in their direction before booming something about glasses that needed to be refilled. Harry busied himself choosing a wine bottle from the rack and missed the odd look Dominic gave his turned back. Hermione frowned. How long had Dominic been standing outside... Had he heard anything? He said something that was meant to be funny but Hermione didn't even waste a smile on him. He left the room with the new bottle and Hermione shot Harry a worried look. He shrugged and said that they better get better outside. Hermione followed him out, a horrible feeling of foreboding sobering her up. Had the wine made them louder than they'd thought and Dominic had overhead? Or was the suspicious look he had given them because they were holding hands and that didn't make sense in his narrow minded world?

Maybe it was the anticipation of further exposure to Draco Malfoy making her feel like this. What were they getting themselves into? Yes, he clearly needed help, but were they wise to get involved with someone like him with everything they had to risk? Hermione hoped against hope Harry's instincts were correct and this wasn't going come back to bite them. Hermione knew that what he saw in Malfoy was a genuine cry for help, but also recognised in herself that her loyalty was always to Harry, their family, and her school. If any facet of her world was endangered by their involvement in the unstable Slytherin, then she knew without a doubt she could easily slam shut any friendship they had cultivated, hopefully without damaging what she wanted to achieve with his son. You didn't get to where she was at 32 by being soft.


	11. What Comes up Must Come Down

**Disclaimer: I haven't done one for a while, but sadly nothing has changed. JK Rowling still owns all these characters!**

**What Comes Up, Must Come Down**

Draco woke up with a start, his heart pounding a ferocious rhythm against his skull. He groaned and brought his hands up to clutch his throbbing head and attempted to gather his wits. Gradually, like the first few fat drops of rain that precede a storm, jarring pangs of anxiety and flashes of memories of the last twelve hours came back to him. _Oh God. Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck. _He brought his hands back to his face and pressed his palms into his closed eyes, as if trying to dam the rising flood of memories.

But it didn't work and with horrendous clarity Draco relived it all. Scorpius' heartbroken face in the underground station, the things that he said to him... And to _Potter._ Harry fucking Potter! Draco pressed his hands even harder into his eyes, causing vivid patterns to erupt across his vision, jarring horribly with the immense vicious pain in his head. _What did I say to him? Did I really say all that stuff? Please, please tell me that was a dream. _Draco opened his eyes and peered through the darkness. No, this definitely was not his home, which must mean that it really wasn't a dream, and all those terrible, horrendously honest things that he had said to Potter and Granger yesterday were things that had really come out of his mouth.

Draco lay there, too stunned to move, too horrified by himself to know how to proceed. _What have I done?_ He flinched as a flash of memory came to him: '_Sometimes I just freeze. Scorp literally has to drag me out of the dark and back into the world.' _Potter's obvious, painful sincerity, gazing at him from across the kitchen. With earnest _understanding_ and terrible _sympathy_ shining in his eyes. Draco cringed as he recalled Harry's constant care and attention, as if Draco were a fragile, unhinged baby bird. Kind of how he had treated his mother a few days before. Oh fucking saint Potter, and his sidekick Granger... What had he said to her?_ I've ruined everything. She'll tell everyone, they'll take him away from me. Now they know what a fucking shit father I am... _And would they know about the pills? His mind leapt to his son and suddenly, through the paranoid jangle of thoughts, Draco knew with a terribly clarity that he had to find him and get out of there before he lost him forever.

He slammed shut the barriers in his mind, attempting to crush the clamouring memories that were vying for his attention like starved rats around a carcass. He breathed in and out slowly, trying to bring his heart rate and mind under control. He needed rein it in, get his head in order. He had got them into this situation and now it was up to him to get them out. He pushed back the voices telling him it was too late, and they had probably already owled the Greengrasses, and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

He swore as the blood rushed painfully to his head, but shakily pushed up to his feet regardless. Thankfully he noticed he was still dressed, and he found his wand on the bedside table and his shoes by the wall. He cracked open the door and put his head out checking that the moonlit hall was clear; it was. His heart was pounding loudly as he surveyed the closed doors that ran down the length of the hall. What to do? He decided finding Scorpius was more important than potentially waking up Potter or his brats and so began to crack open each door in turn, scanning the empty room and moving to the next.

By the time he had gotten to the last door Draco's palms had begun to sweat and he was trying to quash the rising panic he felt in the absence of his son. It seemed he was the only one upstairs, _where the fuck was everyone? _They could be downstairs. Just because no one was up here, didn't mean Scorp had already been whisked away from him.

The house was ominously silent as Draco crept down the plush carpeted staircase, ignoring the suspicious gazes of the people in the photographs as he went past their frames. He walked down the hall and paused at the kitchen door. He couldn't hear a thing. Slowly, and with a mounting feeling of hysteria he put his hand on the knob, twisted and pushed it open.

Noise, light and smells hit him. He stood like a rabbit caught in the headlights as his eyes and ears adjusted to the scene before him. Potter, sitting by the wide open double doors strumming a guitar, Two men standing beside him, laughing raucously and gesticulating wildly. Three women, smiling and joking, glasses of wine waving above their heads as they twisted and moved to the music of the guitar.

Draco took an unsteady step into the room and Potter glanced up, meeting his gaze in surprise. He hastily put down the guitar as Draco took another step into the room. He tried not to notice in his periphery, the settings in which those painful conversations had taken place. The stool where he had sat talking to Potter. The space near the sink where he'd had it out with Granger... He blinked and focused back on Potter, who had stood up, alerting everyone else in the room to Draco's presence. The laughter died as they all turned to face him. He tried to ignore the worried glances and tense atmosphere that had immediately descended.

"Where's my son?" He said, voice deadly quiet.

"In the living room. But don't-" Potter said, but Draco had already strode to the door and wrenched it open. He blinked in the darkness of the room, eyes adjusting. He could make out small bodies, soft, sleepy breathing, a pile of duvets and pillows and a shock of platinum blonde hair half hidden by a blanket. Draco felt an enormous relief flood through him, and his clamouring heart began to slow. He was still here. They hadn't taken him.

He began to make his way into the room, but was stopped by a firm hand on the top of his arm. He looked round to see Harry's resolute face.

"Don't wake him." He whispered. Draco bristled, jerking his shoulders to rid himself of his hand.

"We need to leave." Draco whispered back, barely controlling his voice.

"You can't. Please, come back into the kitchen and we'll talk." Potter's eyes were pleading with him. Draco let out a shaky breath and acquiesced. There was nothing to gain by causing a scene in a room full of sleeping children.

They re-entered the kitchen and Harry cast a silencing charm over the door. He gave a nervous look around the room and turned to Draco.

"Let's talk in the hall." He said. Draco quickly agreed, desperate to get away from the suspicious glares he was receiving from the ex-Gryffindors. They walked from the kitchen, the silence weighing heavily on his shoulders. Draco shut the door behind him.

"Please tell me why I cannot take my son now, and get out of this place."

Harry sighed, running his hands through his hair. Draco could smell the sickly scent of wine coming off him in a wave. His stomach rolled.

"It's half one in the morning. The tube is shut. No one can Apparate you home, we've had too much to drink. You can take him in the morning." Harry said, his face cast dramatically in shadows by the moonlight streaming through the window above the front door. Draco felt hot anger spike at his words.

"I'm perfectly capable of Disapparating myself and my son home without your help." He spat.

"No Malfoy, you're not." He sounded exasperated. Draco felt rage course through his body at Potter's condescension and how maddeningly _right_ he was. Draco _knew_ there was no way he would risk his son in a side along at that moment. He felt shaky and unstable, he couldn't risk a splinching. He swore loudly, almost punching the wall in frustration. He turned, catching the worried look on Potter's face.

"Stop looking like I'm about to fucking curse you, Potter." He spat out. Harry eyes widened in surprise.

"I don't think that! I'm just, worried about you -"

"I don't need your worry, or your sympathy. We don't need your charity. And I don't need you to fucking look at me like I'm having a breakdown." He said, eyes boring into Harry's, as if daring him to give him that earnest look of concern once again. Instead, Potter backed off and folded his arms. Draco shut his eyes, struggling with the intensity of the pain behind his forehead and tried to force his mind back into cohesive thought. He couldn't afford to lose his temper, he had to do it for Scorp. He breathed out slowly and opened them back up, glaring steadily into the green eyes.

"We will leave first thing in the morning. If you dare try to take my son away from me, I will kill you." He spoke slowly, and tried to inject every word with enough weight so that Potter would get it through his thick, drunk skull that he really meant it. The other man met his gaze levelly.

"No one is going to to do that. I swear." Draco gave him one last measured look and found for some strange reason he trusted him. With that Draco stalked back down the hall, and started up the stairs, leaving Harry standing alone and silent.

Draco had not quite reached the room he had been sleeping in however before he was alerted to the pounding of running footsteps coming up the stairs behind him. He span on his feet, thinking for a joyous second that it was Scorpius, but instead was confronted by the slightly panting Hermione Granger. A strap of her dress had slipped off one shoulder and her cheeks were flushed from dancing and wine. She had about her an aura that was absurdly full of vitality in the darkened hallway and she met his reluctant gaze with one of sincere enthusiasm.

Draco stepped back from her into the shadows, alarmed by her sudden lively proximity, still feeling shaken by the adrenaline he'd felt from threatening Potter. He was starting to feel a creeping numbness spread through him, filling his body in the absence of his blind panic from earlier. He was desperate to escape back into the darkness of the bedroom and try and force his mind to forget about it all. He could barely look at the witch, so at odds was she to how he was feeling. It was almost like looking at the sun.

"Malfoy!"

"Granger."

"Please, can I just - I need to talk to you." She said, breathlessly. Draco folded his arms defensively and backed further into the darkened room.

"What about?"

"About the interview. I meant to say earlier- but you wouldn't give me a chance." Draco ducked his head, fighting against the memory her words had stirred. He had threatened her by the sink, it had been about Scorpius... He had felt her hair... _Oh fuck_. He raised his face and forced himself to met her eyes again, nervous to see her expression. He could deal with Potter - he didn't have to see him again, but it was different with Granger. Scorpius was going to be her student.

"I'm sorry." She said. Draco couldn't hide the surprise. _She was sorry?_

"What for?" He said, bluntly. She smiled and shook her head.

"You know what for. For what I said the other day. I was completely out of line to bring your past up in front of your son. And I want you to know, I need you to know, that I would never let my opinions of you or your family affect how I treat Scorpius." She said it quickly, as if nervous Draco would interrupt. He remained silent however, taking in the sincerity in her face and tone and wondering why on earth she was doing this _now._

"Alright." He said, finally. She gave him a nervous smile and he backed further into the room, the desperate urge to get away from her taking over. To get away from the expression that she shared with Potter: that smile, that somehow, from what had happened yesterday, told him that she now considered he needed her _friendship. Please let me get away from you and back into the dark where I can hide. _He shut the door in her face and fell back into bed, that optimistic smile burnt into his mind. God he was fucked.

Draco lay on the bed, shoes on and staring unseeingly up at the ceiling for the next few hours. Eventually the cold grey light of morning filtered insidiously through the curtains bringing with it the new day and a whole new collection of problems. Draco hadn't slept, but had entered a sort of mediative state that he had learnt during his Occlumency training as a boy. In times of stress, such as those dreadfully lonely nights in Azkaban, it helped him order his thoughts and calm him mind. And this had been a night that desperately needed such measures. He needed to hold it together for Scorp. To get them out of this house, on the underground and into safety. _Then_ and _only_ then could he really allow himself to slip apart.

When the grey clouds that clung to the sky seemed bright enough he rose once again from the bed and slipped out of the room, down the stairs and into the hall. He opened the door that lead to the living room and took in the array of children on the floor. He picked through the tangled limbs to where his son lay sprawled in the middle, looking perfectly at ease sleeping there amongst the various Potters and Weasleys. It would have been a funny sight if Draco hadn't been on the brink of mental collapse. He crouched down next to him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking it slightly and whispered his name. Scorpius' eyes fluttered open and he turned his head to frown up at his father.

"What are you doing?" the boy whispered, sitting up. Draco rose and nodded his head towards the door.

"Find your things. Meet me by the front door." Scorpius dropped his chin into his chest and he closed his eyes briefly before surrendering to his Father's wishes.

The journey back was a disturbing reminder of the worse aspects of human nature. It was 5am on a Saturday morning and as the train trundled south it slowly gathered up a motley collection of the leftover dribs and drabs of the London clubbing scene. Girls throwing up, wearing tiny dresses with smudged eyeliner, people sloppily getting off with each other and groups of boys and girls with wide, glossy eyed stares, furiously chewing gum and making inane comments. It was this particular breed of muggle that Draco found himself most adverse to. He closed his eyes every time one of their vacant gazes would latch on to his, unable to deal with being confronted with someone with who undoubtably mirrored his own appearance. He ignored the whispering voice in his head that told him that they had taken nothing worse than he had. That he was no better.

By the time they changed on to the Central Line to head east to Bethnal Green and home he was convinced that the entire carriage could _tell_ somehow, could see it in his face, in his dead empty eyes. That he had been on _drugs. _The word flitted around his head like a great, fat, black fly trying to crawl it's way into his brain. His efforts at swatting it away were growing more and more useless and eventually it was all he could do but hug Scorpius close to him, burying his screwed up face in his hair, letting his innocent, childlike scent keep away the paranoia and caustic thoughts from developing too hard a grip.

Finally, _finally_ they made it back to the flat and, resolutely ignoring the little brown bottle on his chest of drawers Draco crashed into bed, thankful to his very core that they were home and he could be alone. He heard Scorp hovering behind him in the door and looked up. The boy had brought him a glass of water and a couple of pieces of bread, smeared clumsily with butter.

"Father -" He began, trying to sound firm. "You need to eat and drink something. You haven't eaten since yesterday morning." But Draco didn't feel hungry. Yes, the gnawing in his stomach was dreadful, but it was beyond hunger. The thought of the thick, cloying bread sitting within him in a great chewed up lump was revolting. Instead, under the stern gaze of his eleven year old son he gulped down the water, nibbled slightly on a crust, and lay back down. "Please Father, you need to eat more. I'm going to leave this here for you." Draco's eyes flickered to the boy and took in his round, anxious face peering through the dark

"I'm fine, Scorp. Yes, leave the bread, I promise I'll eat it later." He croaked out as the boy placed the plate on the floor next to the bed. Scorpius stood, bit his lip and glanced at the pill bottle. Draco shut his eyes, unable to meet his reproachful gaze.

"Father. I - I need you to get rid of those." Draco opened his eyes, and stole a look at the bottle. All he wanted was to forget that they existed. Why was Scorp doing this? All he wanted to do was to crawl into the dark and forget who he was.

"I will. Please can you let me sleep now?" He pleaded.

"No. Please Father, this is very important. Get rid of them. Now." The boy's blue eyes were solemn and his voice was firm. Draco sat up and rubbed his stinging eyes.

"Fine. Give them to me." Scorpius reached out and threw them on the bed in front of his father. He was right, of course. Of _course_ he had to destroy them now.

Draco drew his wand from his back pocket slowly. He raised it to the pills, ready to cast a banishing spell and paused. Something wasn't right with his wand. It felt - dead somehow. The wood just felt like wood, it felt alien, like it belonged to someone else. But no, it was definitely his wand. He his hand fall to the bed and painfully met the gaze of his son.

"I can't."

"What do you mean you can't!?" Scorp's eyes were wide with astonishment.

"My wand, it doesn't feel right. I'm not sure I can do it." He mumbled.

"Father! You have to! These drugs are dangerous! You can't take them again!" His voice was wavering out of control.

"I'm not going to! I know Scorp! For gods sake don't you think I know that?! Don't you think I'm not completely ashamed of my behaviour yesterday? How much danger I put you in?" He clutched his head in his hands as the pain behind his eyes pulsed with the exertion of raising his voice. He continued to speak, quietly, face still covered. "I could have lost you. I thought I had last night. I woke up, I couldn't find you. I thought... I thought Potter had found out and taken you away." Draco felt his voice choking up and his eyes prang with the first suggestion of tears. _Oh god, am I crying now? In front of my son? As if he doesn't already think I'm the most tragic waste of time in the world. _He breathed in and out slowly trying to gain a modicum of control. Where was the cool mask he'd spent years and years cultivating? It had slipped from his consciousness and was lost.

Suddenly Scorp's arms were wrapped around him and Draco leant into the embrace, finding it harder and harder to resist the instinct to cry. It was with a great deal of self loathing that Draco finally squeezed out the first few tears. He pulled away from Scorp and furiously tried to wipe them away but the boy held on to his wrists, pushed him back so he was leaning on the headboard and climbed into his lap. Draco wrapped his arms around the boy, leant into his shoulders, and wept freely.

"It's okay Dad." He mumbled into Draco's ear. "They wouldn't have been able to take me away. I'm not going to leave you." Draco couldn't speak, he was feeling too overcome with emotion and shame. He could only grip the boy even harder, as if he didn't believe what Scorp was saying was true. And a small voice in the back of his head was indeed whispering such things. Of course Scorp would leave him if we could. If it meant going to Hogwarts and being friends with the Potters, and having the opportunity to have _that_ kind of perfect life. But he appreciated the lie none the less and he loved his son dearly for even trying.

After a while the tears seemed to come to an end and Draco pushed Scorpius back slightly. They gazed at each other in the dark, mere centimetres apart and Draco told him what he was desperate to hear, that of course, _of course_ he would destroy the pills, as soon as he was feeling better and he was back to normal. As he lay in the dark alone, a couple of hours later Draco finally confronted that little niggling, traitorous thought that had refused to leave him alone. He had done his best to ignore it, but like the great, black, fat fly, desperate and unrelenting in its efforts to land, it had crawled its way through his defences. That in actual fact, he was ever so slightly _relieved_ that he hadn't been able to banish the pills.

Despite everything, despite all the horrendously exposing, contemptible and shameful things he had said and how he had acted, things that screamed against his very identity, it had been - _nice. _More than nice. He thought of his Mother, and how happy she had seemed. It was the first time he had seen her laugh, smile or joke sincerely, since he was a child. He thought about how suddenly, with just those two little pills the world had seemed friendly, warm and exciting. How easily he had made Scorp laugh, how he had been able to say things that he had barely been able to admit to himself in the past. They had allowed him to be someone he wasn't. Someone who could tease without coming across as vindictive, who could accept people for who they were without a spiteful voice in the back of his head commenting on their blood status or wealth. Someone who found it easy to swallow his pride and apologise. He had been a _better_ person. Even though he had been acting completely out of character, even Potter, the man who he had spent most of his school days hating, hadn't rejected him for it. But had in fact laughed and teased along with him.

Was that how it felt? To have friends? To live and laugh with people like that? Where they didn't judge and shun you for every bad choice and wrong decision? He couldn't lie to himself any longer and say that being with Harry, even with Hermione there, hadn't been one of the best afternoons he'd had in a long time. And Scorp had been _happy. _Truly happy to be outside on a broom, playing with his cousin and his friends. Draco had been mesmerised by the sight. His son, laughing with carefree abandon, acting like an eleven year old should. It was in painful contrast to the normal sight Draco saw from their window; the sullen boy hanging around the estate with boys that were too old and no good. Draco watched the bottle of pills on his chest of drawers with wary eyes and felt, not for the first time, that he was falling apart.


	12. Plans Go Awry

Plans Go Awry

As Scorpius Malfoy closed the door to his father's room early that Saturday morning, the words and promises still ringing in his ears did nothing to assuage the deep knot of dread in his stomach.

He made himself a sausage sandwich, using some of the barbecue leftovers Harry had promised him the night before and that he'd managed to grab just before Draco had rushed them off, and began to wait. Waiting for his father to get up, to be back to normal, (whatever that consisted of.) Waiting to get on with their lives.

After a few hours of listless worrying he wandered down the hall to Jake's flat hoping for a distraction. He was confronted with the typical family pandemonium that proceeds the last minute packing for a holiday. "We're just going down to Nan's in Brighton for a week. Sorry mate." It was with an even deeper feeling of gloom that Scorpius made his solitary way back home.

At midday a beautiful barn owl arrived, holding in its feet a letter addressed to his father. Scorpius crept back into his dad's dark room, placing it on the bedside table when he saw with relief that he appeared to be sleeping. The pill bottle was gone. His eyes scanned the room, but he was unable to see it anywhere. He left, a tiny shred of hope fluttering in his chest.

That evening, when Draco still hadn't surfaced, he prepared them both another meal; this time a burger squashed artfully between two slices of stale bread. He made them a black tea; the milk, he was upset to discover had gone sour. Another letter had arrived that afternoon, and he placed it on the tray with their food. He took a deep breath and entered the room once again. The letter he had brought in earlier had gone, and Draco lay topless with his back to the door. He shifted slightly, hearing his son's pleading voice and rolled over to look at him.

He looked rough, like he hadn't slept for weeks. The harsh electric light flooding the room from the hall highlighted cheekbones that stood out just a bit more than usual and a sharper jawline that the stubble couldn't hide. With a pang of worry, Scorpius realised that he'd lost weight. His eyes raked down from his gaunt face and were drawn to his left arm, to the red tattoo. It stood out painfully like an old wound and he noticed how horrible it really was. Before it had always been strange but a relatively normal thing to have; but now... A Dark Mark. The snake obscenely filling the skull's gaping mouth. How had he ever thought it anything but evil?

He blinked as suddenly the arm was drawn back and hidden under the covers. He felt a creeping shame at being caught staring and the resulting look of hurt in his dad's eyes. The silence was fraught with the unsaid implications of Scorpius' lingering gaze. He felt somehow jaded, as if with his awareness of what the tattoo actually was, his Dad's vague past wrongs were suddenly much more real; as if they were there hanging above them, watching like ghosts, and not things that could be brushed away and forgotten about like before.

Perhaps in a way, it was because of this mixture of guilt and worry that Scorpius insisted his father eat the burger with a real urgency. He sat down on the bed to eat his own; not taking his eyes off his dad until he had finished. It took a painfully long time, not helped by the fact that he was only using his right hand.

* * *

The next day followed a similar dreary routine and was similarly punctuated by visits from the barn owl. His dad had never been this bad before. Granted, he had at least opened the curtains and wandered about the flat a bit, but Scorpius could tell that nothing he could say or do was really getting through. Nothing could perforate that absent glaze to his eyes.

Scorpius began to feel his anxiety and worry build into panicky frustration. It was with a sinking heart that afternoon that Scorpius realised the meat wouldn't last another day. He wandered the decrepit block of flats aimlessly, unable to deal with being trapped in his suffocating home any longer. Each step he took made him feel worse and more hopeless. He descended the stairs, and slowly the frustration he'd barely been able to suppress at how useless his Dad was, began to replace his gloom, each step caused it to build. By the time he was at the bottom he was angry. The sort of anger that made him want to kick something hard, until the hot burning in his eyes went away.

He was furious at his father. For not getting up and making their life better. For introducing him to a life that would never be his; to family he could never see; to friends he could never meet again. Because of _course_ his dad would never take them back to Harry's house. They were two worlds apart, and a happy, normal family, where kids didn't have to nick their own food, and dads didn't spend two days in bed, wouldn't be compatible with theirs.

He found a ball and began to kick it aggressively against the wall outside the flats entrance, thoughts churning relentlessly. He didn't care about their lack of money, where they lived. None of it mattered, not even that they were all going to Hogwarts and he wasn't. But they had a Dad who _cared_ enough to throw them a stupid barbecue. It had been so much fun, so exciting, and completely relaxing to be at Harry's. For the first time in years he had been able to shrug off all of his stupid personas and just be _himself._

With one particularly savage thought about his father he kicked the ball extra hard and it bounced off the wall at too great an angle for him to intercept. It rolled away and he chased after it, noticing as he did that a small, thin man was watching him from across the road. He picked up the ball and stuck two fingers up at him aggressively, mouthing _fuck off_, the words feeling big and ugly in his mouth. To his disquiet the man merely smirked and continued to watch. Feeling strangely unnerved Scorpius was actually relieved to see his usual gang of mates approaching from around a corner. He dropped the ball, stuck his hands in his pockets and sloped off to meet them, feeling wild and reckless. If his dad's complete failure as a parent was going to stop him from ever seeing Teddy, James and Al again, then he wouldn't sit around feeling sorry for himself any longer. If he couldn't be himself, he could sure as hell be someone else.

* * *

Scorpius awoke the next morning; stomach full of nerves, already anticipating what was planned for that afternoon. In his head he repeated the words Callum, (who at fourteen was his eldest friend, the unofficial gang leader and who had already been kicked out of _two_ secondary schools,) had said to him:_ Nothing major. just as a lookout. Act casual, hang about the front of the shop. We'll do the real work._ Although in the tepid light of morning he was already having regrets. At the time, yesterday evening had been great. Hanging out with that older group never failed to make him feel electrified. He had to watch what he said, how he acted, but once you had their acceptance, and you felt like you belonged... The messing about, the in-jokes, the rivalry with other gangs... It was such a thrill to feel _part_ of something, despite how far from the kind of something he really wanted. Although the things that they said and did, (or claimed they did) made Scorpius uneasy, he couldn't help but feel a strong desire for their approval. Of course when they asked if he was free to help out on a job the following day he quickly agreed.

It made him feel dirty in hindsight; the warm feeling he got off Callum's resultant approving smile, his proud sips off a shared can of beer and his faux-casual use of swear words, but in the moment he seemed to forget that he didn't really want to be that person. While usually thinking about his dad and his heritage made him less inclined to be involved in his mate's various nefarious activities, yesterday evening it had been the driving force. For a while he had been able to forget about everything and immerse himself in another world. One where loyalty to your friends, braveness, cunning and of course, banter were most important, rather than education or family (or lack thereof.)

Scorpius got up and traipsed to the fridge, poking listlessly at the last remaining sausages. He almost felt relieved that the food situation was becoming so out of hand that he could tell himself his planned involvement this afternoon was completely justified, and not some heat of the moment thing. He _needed_ to get together some money. Sure, he now had a bag full of wizard gold, but what good was that in the supermarket?

His eyes flickered to the bedroom door. He'd heard his father up and about last night and seen evidence of it this morning: an empty glass on the table and a book turned on it's pages on the sofa's arm. That could be a good sign? Although all of the food in the fridge was exactly as he had left it. For a second he considered going to say good morning, but felt unable to face him, especially after last night and in the knowledge of his plans for that afternoon... He returned to his bedroom with the last of the bread, and a massive guilty weight on his shoulders. He inspected his bookshelf, deciding to distract himself from his own shit life, yet again, by immersing himself this time in a far more forgiving kind of fictional world than that of _Shawn and his Life of Crime_.

After a few hours of reading Scorpius finally gave into his growling stomach. He banged open the door to the living room, and with a start noticed the barn owl was back. It was perched on one of the kitchen chairs and twisted its head around to look at him. Momentarily distracted from his nerves, Scorpius walked over and removed the letter from it's outstretched leg, mind alight with curiosity. He sorely wanted to know who was writing to his Dad so much. Was it someone calling in a debt? Someone threatening them? He was surprised when the owl didn't fly off. It remained, talons clutched to the wood, it's little silky heart shaped face turned up at him in a question. Strangely, he couldn't imagine such a sweet creature bringing bad news. Scorp frowned.

"What do you want?" Of course the owl didn't reply. "If you want food, I'm sorry, we don't have any." They owl hooted softly. Scorpius raised his eyebrows. He felt like he was having some kind of telepathic conversation. _I_'_m sorry, I don_'_t speak owl_, he thought with a small smile, imagining what his mates would say if they could see him right now.

He sighed, taking a seat opposite the owl, and noticed the other letter on the table. This one, however, was addressed to him! "Did you bring me this?" He asked the owl. Of course it didn't react. He ripped open the thick envelope and with a sinking heart realised it was a book and materials list from Burbage. He dropped his head on to the table. _M__ore things we can_'_t afford Mr Owl. There goes the rest of those Galleons._

Mr Owl was now nibbling on his fingers gently. He raised his head and glared balefully into it's deep black eyes. "What do you want?!" The bird clawed at his dad's letter. Scorpius' gaze rested on it, and he picked it up. "You want me to open this..?" He took the silence for an affirmative. Well, the name on the front only said _Malfoy. _It could _technically_ be his?

With a guilty look at the door and a thrill of nerves, Scorpius carefully opened up the envelope, sliding out the enclosed letter. He began to read quickly, as if, by some strange possibility his dad may burst into the kitchen and catch him in the act.

_Dear Malfoy_

_I don't know if you've been reading these, but until I hear back, I'm not going to stop. I've instructed Hansel not to return without a reply. _

Scorpius looked back up, "So that's what your doing here." The owl blinked slowly.

_I know you really don't want to hear from me; you made that clear on Friday night. And I don't blame you at all. Again, I am so sorry about how things ended. I shouldn't have been drinking. I should have made sure I could get you both back safely. For that I truly am sorry. My only excuse is that both you and Scorpius were so soundly asleep when I checked that I decided (in hindsight very rashly) you would probably stay until morning. I have to swear to you again that I would never willingly do anything to take Scorpius away from you, I could never do that to another father. My boys are everything to me and I know you feel the same way._

_However you are feeling right now, (and I know I keep saying this, but it's so important) but please remember it is only an after effect of your potion ingestion. It is purely chemical and will naturally pass as your body and brain correct the balance the potion upset. Some things can't be cured with magic; you'll have to wait this one out. Whatever you do, do not think that filling the hole with the same, or something else will help. It will only eventually make things worse. _

_The boys have been asking non stop about Scorpius and I know Teddy is desperate to see him again before they go to Hogwarts. I know I am repeating myself but you are both more than welcome at any time. I will carry on repeating this until I hear back! _

_Also - I am having some problems with these warding equations and really am desperate for your help. This isn't 'pity' or an obliged sense of 'charity' as you put it, but a genuine plea for help! _

_All the best,_

_Harry_

Scorpius re read the letter until the words began to blur and dance across the page. One traitorous tear escaped and fell, blotting on the paper. He dropped it on the table before it could happen again and held his face in his hands trying desperately to fight against the overwhelming flood of emotion Harry's words had triggered. He'd thought he'd accepted that he'd never seen them again. The letter was taunting him. He stood, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, angry at himself for being such a cry-baby. He roughly picked up the owl, causing it to flap, but he held on tightly, strode to the window and threw it outside into the air. It shrieked, twisting its wings as it straightened up and soared away. Scorpius slammed the window after it and began to cry properly. There was no chance his dad would reply anyway. There was no point in the owl coming back. He was too proud, too stupid. All Scorpius wanted to do was to write back himself. He could picture Harry arriving, rescuing them from this hell,whisking them both off back to the leafy paradise in north London and never looking back.

Scorpius prepared their lunch unsteadily, the tears slowly coming to an end, shaky breaths frantically trying to be calmed. He put the letter on a plate with the last of the sausages and practically threw it on the dresser in his dad's room without looking up and on his way out slammed the door behind him spitefully.

He ate his own lunch, then splashed some water on his face in an effort to cool down. He checked the clock, got dressed, jammed a cap down low over his eyes to hide the redness and headed out, the grim nerves jangling unpleasantly. No one was coming to rescue them, he needed to accept that. He repeated this mantra all the way down the stairs, drowning out the voice that cried for him to run back up and hide under the duvet, that he didn't need to honour his commitment to the boys, or to do what was best for his tiny family. He'd be no better than his father if he listened.

* * *

The shop that Callum had decided to target was a step up from the typical corner shop or newsagent Scorpius was used to. The prize today was not a packet of crisps and a bar of chocolate, but things far more valuable: dvd players, laptops or maybe an Xbox if they were lucky. The second hand electrical goods and repair shop that Mr Bhullar ran with his sons was a short cycle away from the estate. _Don't shit where you eat, _Callum had said and he ensured the group of four that it would be easy to get what they wanted. His older brother had heard the eldest sons had returned to Pakistan for a few weeks, that the shop was just going to be tended by the old man and his wife. _Piece of fucking piss_, had been Callum's exact words.

Riding on the back of Callum's BMX on the way Scorpius couldn't manage to hide his look of shock at the proud flash of blade the older boy gave him from his pocket. The other boys laughed at his wide eyed reaction._ Shawn you're playing with the big boys now. How did you think this worked?_ He crouched, hands clenched on Callum's shoulders, feeling an urgent kind of dread and totally out of his depth, wishing above anything that he'd listened to the cowardly voice in his head. He could be curled up with the photo of his mum, holding Smaug, his treasured dragon toy from his dad, warm and safe. The boys were acting even more boisterously than ever, swearing at pedestrians and keying cars as they went. Scorpius hoped it was to cover their own nerves, and not because they'd drunk too much vodka. Callum had offered him the hip flask from his other pocket, but the smell had been disgusting and he had no desire to taste it. He glared at the passing houses as they neared their victims, trying harder than he'd ever tried before, not to let the tears resurface.

The shop was situated on a relatively quiet residential road and luckily for them it seemed that the sticky muggy atmosphere that summer had turned to was keeping people inside. Scorpius tried to take deep breaths to calm down as he dismounted the bike, surreptitiously wiping his soaking, trembling hands on his tracksuit trousers. He took his place leaning against a pole, body tense with the effort of making it appear relaxed. He jammed his cap down lower over his face as the others pulled out balaclavas and went inside.

Seconds felt like minutes. He was just able to make out the shouting from inside. A man's old, accented voice, Callum's straining to come across just as deep; it had broken earlier that summer, but he still couldn't sound like an adult. They weren't meant to be talking... Grab and run had been the plan. Scorpius focussed his attention away from the shop and back on the street, noticing as he did so that a man was leant against a wall along the road from where they'd come, and that he hadn't been there a second ago. He pushed himself away from the pole as he made the heart stopping realisation that it was the _same_ man who had been watching him yesterday! Though he was not smirking this time, but looking straight at Scorpius with an alarming intensity. Scorpius felt the hairs on his body rise. _How did he know where I am? When did he get here!?_

Before Scorpius had time to fully form the distressing realisation that this man could be a _wizard_, he lunged, wrenched open the door and shouted at the others to get out. Something was _very_ wrong. He barely had time to take in the scene; a man backed in the corner, Callum's hands shaking around the knife, a girl edging towards him, the other two boys hadn't noticed her, before he whirled back out of the door; and straight into a strong pair of male arms.

He shouted and twisted himself furiously. The arms tightened around his chest, pinning his arms to his body, drawing him closer. Other yells filled the shop, a crash, a chilling scream. He bit down hard on the man's bicep, drawing blood. With a surprised yelp from his captor he was free and he flung himself away, blindly smacking another man who had just turned up on the scene. His arms were wrenched away and wrists tightly held, the first man getting ahold of him once again on his other side. Scorpius strained uselessly, feeling a hysterical panic overtaking his body as his chance to escape vanished. His cap was pulled off and he thrashed about, refusing to look up into the adult's faces.

He was dragged back inside the door and saw the scene had changed. His gaze was drawn instinctively, horrifically, to the violent bloom of thick dark blood that was spreading over the white clad thigh of the teenage girl. Someone was screaming for an ambulance, she was leaning against a rack of televisions, her hands uselessly pressing against the stab wound, the blood oozing between her fingers. The room swam and Scorpius sagged, fingers cutting painfully into his arms. They dragged him past the unconscious body of Callum, surrounded by glass, his little knife slicked red. Scorpius stared at it and through the rushing and pounding in his ears, a certain muttered word filtered through. _Police_. Suddenly Scorpius realised with clarity, he _had_ to escape. It was not a matter of choice. Without warning something felt like it ruptured deep within him and a fluid, gushing sensation of energy rushed from his chest down his limps, leaving them tingling and numb. He didn't even pause, knowing instinctively that this was his magic and what it would help him do_. _He wrenched himself one last time away from the men and miraculously, incredibly, slid from their grip.

"Oi! Someone grab the little shit!" a voice yelled. The old man lunged for him, but Scorpius slipped easily through his arms as if he were a wet bar of soap. He could feel their hands on his skin, but they just couldn't stick. One last attempt was made as he neared the door, but he evaded the grasping hands easily. He burst outside, and nearly tripped over the bikes in his haste to sprint down the street, the men's shouts, the girls shrieks, a barking dog and the distance sound of a siren weaving a cacophony within his ears. He ran from it all, ran down the road, the fasted he'd ever run before, and didn't look back.

* * *

Scorpius didn't stop sprinting for what felt like forever. His lungs burned, he sucked his breath in in long, rattling gasps, the stitch in his side was agony, but still he didn't stop. Not until he could be _sure_ he wasn't being followed. There was no way he could let that creepy man could find him again... After a while the buildings began to get bigger, the rows of houses and flats turned into shops and then into concrete and glass offices. The streets were starting to fill with people.

Finally, he allowed himself to slow to a jog. He slipped into an alley, crouching against the wall, trying to stop his shaking, burning legs from fully collapsing under his weight. After starting to catch his breath he tried to stand back up but his head swam and he swayed, just caught himself and was violently sick. It burnt his throat and he coughed, bringing a trembling hand to wipe across his lips. He leant back and tried not to think of all of the blood... About that girl, her face screwed up in shock and pain. And Callum. What happened to him? Was he okay?! _I just left them all. How much time do I have before the police catch up with me? _Would they send to a muggle jail for a muggle crime? Or would he end up in Azkaban? What happens to eleven year olds who take part in... God, was it armed robbery? He felt his legs shake again as the enormity of what they had done began to really sink in... He should have left when he saw the knife.

What was _wrong_ with him? Someone could have died! How could he face his father... He imagined his dad, eyes distant, arms folded, mouth set in a thinly veiled sneer the aurors took him away. Scorpius gasped, brought his hands to his eyes and slammed his head back into the brick wall as if the physical pain would stop that train of thought from developing, the crushing sense of shame and panic. He couldn't face that right now.

"Are you alright, dear? Are you lost? Where's your mum?" A woman's voice spoke uncertainly to his left, startling him. His eyes snapped open, took in her kind, concerned face, her reaching hand, and he stumbled away from her up the alley.

This time Scorpius wandered aimlessly, numbly, not knowing what to do, where to go. Not before long he found himself swept up in a purposeful throng of muggles, all seemingly heading towards a large roundabout with a huge billboard in the middle. He was properly in central London now, and he realised he probably stuck out like a sore thumb. He hadn't seen another child in a long time, let alone one by himself. A faint siren carried through the air and Scorpius regained his purposefulness. It grew louder as it made its way towards the roundabout. He panicked and pushed into a run, barging his way through the crowd. With a feeling of huge relief he realised they were heading towards an underground station. He forced his way down the steps, treading on feet, nearly sending a woman flying, just getting underground as the siren went past. He carried on, pushing bodies apart, ignoring cries and muttered curses. He squeezed through the barriers, just getting through after someone else, took the escalator at a run, flew on to the platform and just managed to press himself into the departing train before the doors shut.

The train pulled away and he leant against the doors, gasping breath clearly audible in the quiet, commuter filled carriage. He was pressed against the hip of one woman and his face was perilously close to the damp armpit of a man but he didn't care. He was safe in that hot, stuffy crush of muggles for now.

It took Scorpius a couple of minutes to realise where he was heading and for the lady's announcement to sink in. _"This Northern Line train terminates at Edgware via Bank. The next station is Kings Cross St Pancreas."_ Could it be..? He strained his head round, just making out the map on the other side of the carriage. His eyes ran up the black Northern Line until they found... Hampstead.

He let up a huge breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Yes, Harry's, he would go there. With that thought he felt himself relax slightly and spent the rest of the journey focusing on counting down the stops as they traveled north.

* * *

During the walk from the station to Harry's house Scorpius began to second guess his decision, despite knowing he literally didn't have a choice. He simply couldn't return home, that man knew where he lived and undoubtably would have informed the police. And if he was a wizard, which Scorpius had the worst feeling was the truth, (how else could he have found him so easily?) far worse consequences than the muggle police would waiting for him there.

He entered Harry's road and his pace slowed further as the urge to run away fought over that to be somewhere warm and safe. He pressed on, forcing himself to think about the letter. '_More than welcome at any time.' _He didn't even know what he'd tell Harry, he had never been as unprepared for a confrontation as this. His mind was completely blank, he was unable to think of anything rational or coherent.

When Harry opened the door and Scorpius saw the brief look of surprise the wizard gave him, for an awful second Scorpius thought he would send him away. But then with the welcoming smile that was meant for him alone, he was completely unable to hold back the tears that he had been fighting against since reading that letter.

The hug that he was pulled into just made it worse and he sobbed freely into the man's side, tears soaking into his shirt. He felt himself relax into Harry's warmth, the homely smells of clean laundry, aftershave and cooking filling his nose, and the security of adult arms that offered protection rather than attempted capture. How he could find such comfort in a man who was practically a stranger he didn't know, but slowly the racking sobs calmed slightly and he heard Harry ask if he wanted to have some tea.

Scorpius trailed anxiously into the house after him, keeping an eye out for the other boys; he would be mortified if they saw him like this. To his relief Harry led him into the empty living room and he sat down on one of the massive squashy sofas, sinking into the cushions. Harry silently offered him a tissue and he took it, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose. He felt completely raw and was intensely relieved the wizard hadn't bombarded him with questions. He hadn't cried this much in one day since his mother had died.

Harry brought him a tray with a plate of shepard's pie and a glass of water and sat down next to him with a half eaten plate of his own, explaining the boys were in the kitchen eating theirs, but he had asked them not to come in. Scorpius dropped his head.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" Harry asked, apparently surprised.

"For interrupting your dinner. You don't need to sit in here with me." He mumbled.

Harry smiled. "Don't be silly. I want to sit with you." Scorpius awkwardly swallowed the pie he had been chewing on and looked up at Harry who was regarding him steadily.

"Dad... he doesn't know I'm here. I read your letter today." Instead of the expected disapproval Harry's expression barely changed, as if that's what he had assumed.

"Scorpius, has something happened this evening?" The boy's eyes dropped and he gazed at his food, not answering. "Please Scorp, what's going on? Has someone tried to hurt you?" He shook his head violently. "Then what are these?" Harry asked, reaching out to his upper arm. Scorpius looked to where Harry was referring and with a jolt noticed two huge hand shaped bruises were starting to bloom across his biceps and wrists where the men at the shop had been restraining him. He shakily touched the bruises on his left arm and winced slightly at the pain.

"It's nothing!" He blurted out, cursing internally at his slow reacting mind for failing to come up with anything more eloquent. Harry frowned.

"Is something going on at home?" Harry asked quietly. Scorpius jerked his head up from his food and met Harry's eyes in surprise, understanding at what he was implying jolting him slightly from his shock. He thought of his dad's hagged, pale face peering at him in the darkness and then the feeling of the stranger's hands digging into his arms and his frantic desperation to escape.

"It wasn't my Dad! He would never hurt me!" He said shrilly, gazing into Harry's face imploringly, willing him to believe him. At his words, the man's eyes widened slightly.

"Okay, okay, I believe you, but who did this?" But the boy had looked away, and shut his eyes, trying to calm his breathing as his heart began to pound again as he relived it. He saw again the thick, dark oozing blood and the red knife. Callum lying as if dead. His breath caught in his throat, and he tried to breath in harder, but it wouldn't work. He barely noticed that Harry had taken away his food, and was now thrusting a small, open bottle into his hands. "Drink this, it will help." Harry gently helped him lift the potion to his mouth and he gulped the lot down.

Immediately he felt his heart and breathing return to normal and a calm descend on him, blanketing the panic. He looked down at the bottle label.

_Melody's Medicine for Magical Maladies_

_Calming draught for kids aged 5-12_

_ One dosage_

_ For when it all ends in tears!_

He looked back up at Harry and felt himself smile slightly. "Calming potion?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at the smile. "Yes, something you're familiar with I suppose? I don't really like giving these potions to the boys but they're useful sometimes." Scorpius felt his smile falter in guilt and studied his lap.

"Listen Scorp, I really want you to try and finish your dinner, I'm just going to check on the boys and then I'll be back. I'm going to take you home." Scorpius felt his stomach drop.

"Please! You can't! I can't go back!" But Harry was shaking his head.

"Shh, it'll all be fine. I'll take you straight to your door." Scorpius lay back into the sofa and knew he didn't have a choice. "I can't keep you here without your dad knowing, Scorp, it wouldn't be right. I know he won't like it. You'll be back soon enough though, and next time you can see Al and James, okay?"

"Dad can't know about these. Please don't tell him?" He said, gingerly touching his wrists.

"Scorpius, you need to tell him! You can't keep something like this form him! He would want to know."

"It was just a fight! I was just in a muggle fight with some other boys!" Apparently the calming draught had helped screw his head back on and help find his voice. Harry pursed his lips and shook his head again. "You don't understand! He can't find out! It'll upset him too much! He hasn't... He's barely spoken since Friday night! He's barely been out of his room." Scorpius trailed off, before continuing in quiet voice. "If he sees these bruises and knows I've been fighting it'll upset him even more and then I'll never get him back. I don't want him to..." He spoke in barely a whisper, but couldn't finish the sentence. _Take any more of those drugs._ He glanced a look at Harry and saw the wizard was gazing at him in obvious concern and worry. With a sigh Harry left the room and returned with a small pot. He took the boy's arms and gently rubbed in a strong smelling poultice. "This will make the bruises fade."

After Scorpius had attempted to eat the rest of his food, he left the house with Harry, walking close to his side, a bag containing a box of leftover shepard's pie for his dad clutched in his hand. Harry took them to an old bus stop down the road and Apparated them to a park in Bethnal Green. Scorpius walked even closer to Harry as he led them to the estate and was practically hanging off his arm by the time they got there. He felt ready at any moment to flee at the sight of flashing blue lights in the darkness or black and white clad police, but miraculously the square outside their block was empty. With a great sigh of relief he led Harry up the stairs to their floor.

They arrived at their door and he turned to say goodbye. Harry kept throwing glances at the door, but instead of going inside he smiled down at Scorpius, put his hands on his shoulders and told him that he would be seeing him very soon and to trust him that everything would be fine. As Harry walked away Scorpius tried to believe him, but found he couldn't. He took a deep breath and slowly opened the door.

He was met by sight of his father sitting at the table and on his face flashed a brief jolt of relief before it became expressionless. He stood up as Scorpius edged into the room, his own relief at seeing Draco up and responsive also quickly giving way to something else. Anyone else seeing the slight tightening of his eyes and the hardening of his mouth wouldn't have thought anything of it, but Scorpius recognised the sight of his anger.

"Where have you been?" He asked, his voice deceptively calm.

"Nowhere."

"Who were you just talking to outside?"

"No one!" Draco slid across the table Harry's letter from earlier.

"You read my letter?" Scorpius bit his lip, knowing denial was useless. "Did you bring Potter to our flat?" His dad's face was calm but Scorpius knew how much he was holding back. He didn't answer and his father's face darkened. "So, you decided to go and spend the day with Potter, behind my back? Had a fun day did you?"

Scorpius felt himself quicken to anger at the injustice of his dad's words. "It wasn't like that!"

"What was it like then?" He picked up the letter and shook it. "You read this, foolishly gulped down Potter's words, thought you'd run off and _hang out_ with him?"

"No! I didn't! You - You don't know what I just went through for you!" Scorpius felt his voice rise into a shaky yell.

"What you just went through! _For me?"_ His dad had lost his cool now too and his own voice was raised threateningly. "Running to fucking Potter, begging for his help to come and sort me out!? Don't pretend that was for _me! _Oh I bet it was a real _hardship_ for you, to go back and play on their brooms and watch his TV just to bring me back another of his charitable meals." Scorpius dropped the bag of Shepard's pie on the floor and glared at his father, trembling with rage at how unfair he was being, how horrible he was, and how much he found he _hated_ him. It was painfully unfair. He couldn't even defend himself, as he had just realised that being at Harry's all day really was the perfect alibi. "I'm just _sorry_ I can't give you the same. I'm _sorry_ I don't have all that muggle shit you love so much and I'm _sorry_ I don't have the money to buy you what you want." His voice was dripping with sarcasm and it hurt Scorpius in a way that shouting couldn't.

"I don't want you to buy me anything! I don't want all that stuff! I just wanted you to be my dad! Harry brought me home, he didn't want me to be there without you knowing! It's not his or my fault you're a shit dad!" He shouted hysterically. His father looked shocked, like he had been slapped and with that Scorpius fled to his room, slamming the door behind him. He got into bed, fully clothed and threw Smaug hard across the room, smacking him satisfyingly into the wall. He closed his eyes and lay there, finding it easier than he'd found all day not to cry. He realised it was probably still the calming draught working its magic, or maybe that he'd just run out of tears.

After a couple of hours lying in bed, the days events twisting over and over in his mind, boiling anger at his father slowly subsiding into resentful misery, he was alerted to a tapping on his window. He wrenched himself up, opened the curtain and saw a small owl perched there on the sill. He opened the window and it hopped inside, offering him a leg. He untied the letter and saw that it was addressed to him. He gave the owl a stroke and opened the envelope.

_Dear Scorpius_

_I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to Diagon Alley tomorrow morning? I understand you received your books and materials list today and so will be needing to make the trip at some point. I've got a couple of free hours tomorrow and need to pick up a few things myself, so I thought perhaps we could go together! It's not unusual for teachers to accompany students from the muggle world on their shopping trips, and while I know of course, that you are from a wizarding background, I enjoyed your company so much at Harry's barbecue I thought it would be a nice chance for us to get to know each other a little better before term starts and I have to start being your scary Headmistress..! Check it's OK with your dad first, write your reply on the back of this letter and send it back with my owl. If you say yes, I will be round for 9.30am. _

_Looking forward to your reply,_

_Hermione Granger_

Before he could question the wisdom of what he was doing he was writing down his confirmation and address and reattaching the letter to the owl. He watched her swoop away into the darkness and got back into bed. His dad wouldn't be happy, but after tonight Scorpius found he didn't care.

**A/N So that chapter was pretty long and I could have split it into two. The most natural point would have course left you with a huge cliffhanger and I hate reading those (esp. with my fave character) so decided not to do it. However, if anyone thinks I should have, or my chapters in general should be shorter then please let me know! (along with any other thoughts of course)**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **For those that follow this story you may or may not have seen but I've added a sort of prologue to chapter 1. This was basically to introduce certain themes of the story earlier to new readers. (Seeing as previously it's not until chapter 5 where we get to the nitty gritty of Hermione and Draco) It's not essential reading, it doesn't change the plot in any way, but you may be interested none the less. I've also re written parts of the first chapter. Mainly to make the writing a little better, (I hope!) but also to tie in the prologue. The only part that has majorly changed is the first interaction between Hermione, Al, James and Harry. Hopefully it's an improvement as before I couldn't really even think about that scene without seriously cringing!

**A/N 2: **Thank you to I love Music, Lexie-king, HarryPGinnyW4eva, LanaLee1 and CrazyPhenom for your reviews and observations! If you guys found that last chapter half as hard/sad/horrible to read as I found writing it, then I'm sorry! Also - CrazyPhenom, Scorp _so_ isn't a juvenile delinquent! He's just 'misunderstood' ;)

**Disclaimer: **Did anyone else read that tweet from J.K Rowling last week? The one that said: 'All these people saying they never got their Hogwarts letter: you got the letter. You went to Hogwarts. We were all there together.' If this line didn't move me an embarrassing amount, then I own Harry Potter.

* * *

**Chapter 13 - An Urgent Student Welfare Issue**

"Laura. Laura!" Hermione's urgent voice called through to the room outside her office. She was still brushing off the floo powder from her shoulders as she sat down behind her desk and her assistant bustled in. "There you are! Good morning! Run me through the schedule for this morning." Laura passed Hermione a cup of coffee and began to fumble through a collection of files until she had found the day's incredibly complicated, nearly indecipherable colour coded timetable her boss had issued the week before. Hermione took a sip of the coffee, brought out a mirror and a small cosmetics bag and began to do her makeup while she listened.

"Morning A: 8-9am meetings with Potion department to go over upper school summer term curriculum. 9-10am the muggle psychologist is giving the seminar on discipline, 10-11am meetings with Art department to discuss their budget, 11-12pm the meeting with Mr Montgomery." Hermione rolled her eyes at her reflection as she brushed on mascara. Simpering up to old men who were thinking about bequeathing their fortune to the school was not a part of the job she had anticipated.

"Okay, and morning B?" To most people that would have seemed busy enough, but with term due to start in just a couple of weeks, the advantages one could achieve from bringing in the _controlled_ use of a time turner was not something she could overlook. It was only a temporary measure of course.

"8-9am meetings with English department, 9-10am you've got an interview scheduled for a new football coach."

"CV?" Hermione interrupted. A piece of paper was thrust into her hand and she glanced away from the mirror and scanned the text. _He's a squib, played for a minor league team, been coaching for ten years... Sounds fine. _"Can you interview him?"

"Me!? I don't know anything about football! Is that the one where you kick a ball?" Laura flapped her hand uselessly. Hermione had to employ a great deal of effort not to roll her eyes. She hated it when people lived up to the bad stereotypes of their houses like this. Hufflepuffs should never come out with comments like _that._

"Yes. Foot - ball? It's pretty self explanatory. Just ask him about his coaching successes. And make sure we have a criminal records check on him, I don't want any creeps slipping through the net." Laura reddened as she made another note.

"10-10.30 I've put you down for a nap,"

"Laura! I told you! No napping! Good, that's half an hour free." Hermione said, not looking up from patting in the concealer into the dark circles under her eyes, missing the raised eyebrows from her assistant.

"10.30-11 meeting with Martine to go over her limits of student confidentiality as a counsellor, and 11-12 - "

"Yes I know, a meeting with Orla Quirke to discuss our next big PR adventure. Okay..." Hermione paused while she zipped up the bag of makeup and smoothed her frizzier than normal hair behind her ears. She'd been in such a rush this morning she hadn't even had time to go through her usual straightening routine.

"Okay this is easy. English can stay where they are on morning B, shift the psychologist to morning B, but same time. Sue from accounts will be fine by herself telling Art they can't have any more money so we can cancel that. I want you to reschedule Orla to 10-11, and so can you please apologise to Martine and say that I've had to reschedule due to an urgent student welfare issue that needs my attention, so she should understand..."

"Why are you doing all this, Hermione?" Laura had stopped scribbling on the timetable and was looking at her boss in confusion. They _never_ broke from the schedules. It was basically the _law._ Hermione ducked her head and busied herself rearranging her desk.

"I need from 9-12 free in morning A. I told you, an urgent student welfare issue has arisen."

"That needs your personal attention?" Hermione's eyes shot up to meet Laura's.

"Well if you must know, I'm doing a Diagon Alley trip."

"But you know those are scheduled for next week! We've still got a few teachers who have spaces left. Do you want me to allocate the student to one of those?" Laura was frowning and Hermione decided that that was the end of their meeting. She had a potions curriculum to reacquaint herself with over half an hour and she didn't like where this conversation was going. She got out the teacher's notes and started thumbing through them pointedly.

"No, Laura, this is one that I need to do personally." She opened a drawer and heaved out her old copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

"But who is it?" The girl wouldn't take a hint and drop it. Hermione opened the book at random and pretended to read the ingredient list for a potion to reverse the effects of morning sickness. _Hmm, how useful for me._ She glanced back up at Laura who was still waiting for an answer. Hermione sighed.

"Scorpius Malfoy." As predicted Laura's eyebrows shot up. "I'd prefer if you could keep this between ourselves?"

"Of course." Was that a small smirk she saw on her assistant's face as she left the room? Maybe Hermione shouldn't have been so bitchy about the football coach after all.

* * *

Draco swore as yet another pancake he was attempting to unstick from the pan broke apart. Scorp still talked about his mother's amazing muggle pancakes all these years later and Draco had a _lot_ of making up to do that morning. So much that even pancakes may not cut it, but he was trying to be optimistic. He studied the 'basic' muggle cookbook, trying to find where he was going wrong. The instructions were absurdly simple. Maybe not enough butter?

He glanced at his son's shut bedroom door. Draco had already tried to knock twice but he knew he was being subjected to the silent treatment. He took the pan off the heat, scraped the broken batter on to the reject plate, (which was already pretty full,) and walked back over to the door.

"Scorp? Breakfast is nearly ready. Are you -" The door was wrenched open and for a second he felt an irrational flare of hope that things would be okay. But the blue eyes he met were cold and narrowed and told Draco exactly how very unforgiven he was. A second later the boy barged past him and stalked into the bathroom. Draco returned to the oven, adjusted the flame, scooped a larger knob of butter into the pan and watched it melt. He deserved that. He deserved so much worse. "_Shit dad", _little face screwed up in hatred, that awful sinking feeling those words delivered like a punch, as his own anger rushed away leaving him bereft and self aware. How had he so monumentally fucked everything up?

He would never admit it to anyone, could barely admit it to himself, but it was Potter's letters that provided the spark of hope that helped him break away from the depression that had engulfed him since Friday. He had never felt so deeply lost, so hopeless. Even the building anxiety that was the awareness of Scorp's needs seemed to paralyse him further. Usually that was enough to motivate himself to fight against the maelstrom of his thoughts, but something had been different that day and then the next. He just couldn't find it in him to be confronted by the damage he must be causing his son. An incapacity and cowardice that was like a degenerative sickness.

At first Draco had ignored the letters, (he couldn't face the flashbacks to those conversations) but then the words began to sink in. They were simple, un-judging and although he searched, Draco had failed to find any hint of mockery or threat within them. They had helped him understand what he was feeling, and introduced him to the idea that gradually helped him break away from his debilitating thoughts: that _maybe_ it wasn't just his own weakness and ineptitude that was causing these feelings but _possibly_ an after effect of the muggle drugs. Potter's explanation, that the high had to be equally balanced by a low, made logical sense. He just now had to wait for it to pass...

Through the haze of that relentless melancholy the letters also delivered the strange impression that maybe Harry's kindness the other day had been genuine and not just done out of humour or some other twisted incentive. That maybe, Harry had wanted to return the friendship Draco had so embarrassingly admitted he wanted. The delicate, tremulous thought barely had time to form before Draco hastily crushed it. That was not the type of idea he could afford to nurture. Of course Harry's efforts were motivated by a desire for his son's wellbeing, rather than out of concern for Draco himself.

Still, it was a curious feeling to be on the receiving end of someone's goodwill, no matter how inspired by pity it was, and particularly seeing who it came from. Draco didn't know how he should feel about it. Outraged? Embarrassed? - Grateful? It had cost him a great deal of pride, but purely for the sake of Scorp, he had decided not to completely burn that bridge. No matter how much shame he felt over his behaviour towards Potter there could be no denying the good it would potentially do for his son. And while Draco knew he was a lost cause, Scorpius certainly was not.

Although it was Potter's letters of course that had caused the latest mess. He had awoken yesterday afternoon with a revived urge to reconnect and talk to his son, to undo the damage of his neglect. This soon turned into worry that developed into desperation as a loop around the estate to look for him lengthened into two hours of searching when Scorp was nowhere to be found. Finally Draco had returned to the flat feeling on the brink of panic. It wasn't like his son to vanish without leaving a note, and if he had, he could usually be found played out in the square... He turned the flat upside down looking for any hint of where Scorp could be and so eventually found the open letter from Harry, slipped down the back of his dresser with a single, burnt sausage. He hadn't known whether to laugh or cry.

That rush of relief, that Scorpius was safe and with Potter, that it was just paranoia and extreme guilt making him feel so awful, quickly returned to worry as he thought about his little boy traveling alone on the underground, and then spending time with Harry and his sons, laughing and playing in a way that Draco had been unable to do. He had fought against the jealously, knowing of course, that it was he that had driven his own son away to find comfort in another. Draco was determined to rise above it, but the hours dragged on, his panic returned and it was finally the sound of Potter's voice outside his door that really set him off. Though the anger was at himself, he naturally took it all out on Scorp.

_Shit dad._ Draco broke another pancake.

* * *

Hermione stifled a yawn as she tried in vain to hold on to the thread of conversation with the potions professor. Whether it was due to tiredness at being kept up by her thoughts last night, or that her anticipation for the visit to the Malfoy home was too distracting, she found she could not focus on what the man in front of her was saying at all. Maybe it was just deep exhaustion catching up with her after a month and a half of squeezing in an extra hour or four into each day.

None the less, she was seriously worried. If seeing Draco Malfoy unbalanced and high off what she was sure was just an accident had given her a slight cause for concern, then it was a conversation she'd had with Harry that made her fully committed to the Malfoy cause.

She had been on the sofa reading when the floo began to chime the night before. It was a firecall from Harry and he was really worked up about something.

"Hermione! Hermione!"

"Harry, are you alright? Has something happened?" She dropped the book and rushed over to sit in front of the flames.

"Yes, I would come over but I don't want to leave the boys alone again."

"Again? Where have you been?" Harry took a deep breath.

"I just dropped Scorpius back home."

"Oh that's brilliant! Your letters worked then? They came over?"

"No."

"Then how?"

"Scorpius turned up here alone a couple of hours ago, in a complete state. He was crying, covered in dirt and bruises, practically in shock."

"He was hurt!?"

"Yes, I don't think he knew where else to go, he was scared of going home,"

"Was it Malfoy! Did he hurt him?"

"No!"

"How do you know!?"

"I just do, okay?"

"Harry, I know you like to see the best in people, but this is serious -"

"I used Legilimency on him! Alright? It wasn't Malfoy."

"Oh, Harry..."

"Don't Hermione. I feel bad enough breaking his trust, but the boy isn't afraid of lying, and he does it well and a lot."

"Who was it then? What did he tell you?"

"He said he'd been in a fight with some muggle kids, but that wasn't what I saw... They were adults. I was only in there for a second, but it was enough to see that. When I took him home he was _scared._ He expected someone to be waiting for him I think. Hermione, I feel so powerless. Something serious is going on with that family, but unless Malfoy lets me, there's no way I can do anything. It's so _fucking_ frustrating. Please, I need you to do something drastic. Scorpius had a panic attack after I confronted him! He made me swear not to tell his dad about the attack, thinks it will upset him too much. Apparently Malfoy hasn't spoken or left his room for days... I have no idea if he's even opened any of my letters. I don't know what to do, maybe Scorpius is right. We don't want to make things worse for them."

Hermione had been relieved that her own letter had been answered so quickly, but in a way, that was equally as worrying. What was clear was that Scorpius Malfoy was in serious trouble and the fact he was going to people he barely knew for help, rather than his own father, was seriously alarming. Ordinarily the way forward would have been simple; to approach the parent and share her worries and work on a solution together. But Draco Malfoy was clearly in as much trouble as his son, and what was worse, seemed to be doing it to himself.

Harry's acceptance of Scorpius's decision to keep what had happened to him a secret made Hermione uncomfortable. Fundamentally the whole notion of protecting a parent from his child was wrong and she refused to agree to it before she had seen Malfoy's state for herself. She prayed what she found was not what Harry had described and she would be able to talk to the man frankly. Her stomach gave a tiny flip in apprehension.

* * *

Scorpius sunk into his chair at the table and gave his plate a disgusted look. Draco looked down at his own and tried his best not to match his son's expression.

"Look, if you just put on the sugar, they're still like pancakes, but just chopped up! Like how they'd be after you chewed them anyway..." He chanced a look at Scorp to see the eye roll. "Scorpius." The boy refused to look up at him. "Please Scorp." Nothing. There was no way he'd even give so much as a nod if Draco tried to apologise to him now. And to be honest, how feeble was the word 'sorry' to communicate everything he needed to? Especially after his repetitive use of it over the summer.

He decided on a different approach. Actions spoke louder than words. "I thought perhaps I could take you over to Harry's house this week." The boy's head glanced up and his eyes widened a fraction.

"Really?" His voice was small and hopeful. Draco smiled, thank Merlin he wasn't a teenager yet. His ability to hold the infamous Malfoy sulk hadn't fully developed.

"Yes. I mean, first we need to go and buy you an owl so we can actually contact them..." But Scorpius' face had closed into a frown again and he was back to glaring at the plate of broken batter. Draco felt his heart sink. "Scorp? What did I say wrong?" The boy gave a dramatic sigh.

"Why are you so obsessed with buying me stuff?" He said to his plate. Draco was stumped.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want you to buy me anything! I don't like it!" Draco frowned, _this again._ of course he always forgot how different Scorpius was to himself at eleven. There was nothing Draco had liked more than been taken on a spontaneous shopping trip into London by his mother and father, but here was his own son refusing even an _owl._

"Listen Scorp, I'm going back to my mother's this morning. I need to check up on her and talk to her about a few things. While I'm there I'll see if there's anything else she's willing to give me. I saw your books and materials list this morning so it would be good to have a little extra money for when we need to go back to Diagon Alley. It would be useful for us both to have an owl! I was thinking later on this week..." Draco trailed off, taking in his son's anxious face. "What's wrong?" His son shook his head. "Please talk to me. If this is about those pills-" Draco _really_ hadn't wanted to talk about that, but he would do whatever it took for Scorpius to forgive him.

"No! It's not! I know you've got rid of them!" Draco forced himself to hold Scorp's trusting gaze and felt dirty.

"Then what's wrong?"

"You don't need to take me back to Diagon Alley."

"Scorp, I want to! I know last time went... a bit wrong, but I promise I'll do better this time! If you're that worried about money we don't need to buy you an owl." But his son shook his head and glanced at the clock.

"Miss Granger is coming over to take me." He said in a rush. Draco's eyes widened and the forkful of pancake he'd been lifting to his mouth fell to the plate with a clang. "She'll be here in half an hour!" _What?_

"She's coming here? Now?" He repeated, stupidly. Scorp nodded. "She's taking you to get your school books?"

"Please don't be mad." Scorp's eyes looked at him beseechingly. But Draco wasn't mad. He felt stunned. He had thought he'd have time - time to prepare himself for wizarding London - time to deal with and know how to move forward from his behaviour the other day - How he had behaved to Hermione Granger... He thought of the muggle pills and their easy feeling of floating detachment. "Father! I'm sorry! I was angry last night, she owled and I said yes before I thought about it! Please don't be upset!" Draco blinked and focused on Scorpius.

"I'm not upset."

* * *

Hermione's leg was tapping unconsciously as she counted down the minutes to nine o' clock. The Potion master's voice droned on and on and didn't seem to be coming to an end. _Finally_ the clock struck the hour and she jumped to her feet.

"Brilliant, I can't wait to see the new method put into practice." She gave the man a bright smile, packed up her books and strode from the classroom to get her bag. She found Orla Quirke sitting in her office. Hermione's purposefulness faltered as she took in the crossed arms and frown.

"What's this I hear about you rescheduling our meeting because you're taking the Malfoys to Diagon Alley?" the witch said, archly. Hermione sighed, shooting a glare at Laura through the open door. She would be having words with her later for this.

"Malfoy. Singular. I'm taking Scorpius, not his father."

"You do know how this looks, don't you? The one pureblood in the school, being taken on a shopping trip by the Headmistress herself. Rather seems a bit like - _special treatment._"

"Of course not." Hermione said brusquely.

"You can't give out mixed messages, Hermione. Either you're completely unbiased and treat every student the same, or you're taking the scion of the Noble House of Malfoy out for an exclusive breakfast."

"I'm not taking him out for breakfast, Orla! This is a private matter. The boy is having problems, I'd be doing this to any other student if I thought they needed it." Orla looked unimpressed. "Look, not everything is about PR, or doing what looks best. I have to do this, I've made a promise."

"God, I forgot how noble you Gryffindors are. Well as long as you don't get photographed. _Particularly_ if the elder Malfoy decides to come. I know he's good looking and no one can deny that disgraced Slytherin bad boy aura isn't attractive, but he is a known blood purist, not to mention a _Death Eater_."

"Was." Hermione automatically corrected. "Draco isn't coming. You don't have to worry."

"Worrying about this is my job." Orla snapped.

"Excellent, and that's why I pay you so well. Now please leave me to my job." Hermione dropped her folders on the desk, picked up her bag, gave Orla a brisk smile and strode from the room. "I'll see you in an hour!" She called over her shoulder.

* * *

Draco stood in the shower, the hot water pounding on his back, trying to come up with reasons why Hermione Granger coming round to their flat wasn't a complete disaster. She _must_ have heard about his episode. Scorpius must have told Potter, who told Granger... He banged his head against the tiles, feeling like the victim of some kind of noble Gryffindor intervention. _No, I am not a victim. This isn't about you, this is about Scorp._ He could try to turn this into an opportunity to show Granger he wasn't a completely incompetent father. Potter had sworn never to take his son away, but Granger was in a different position, one of technical authority, and she _did_ have the power to intervene in their lives if she thought she needed to.

So far each time they'd met he'd managed to fuck up somehow. Called her a mudblood, been high, threatened her, acted like a complete, fucking idiot. _Shit dad._ No, not this time. He _had _to make a good impression. Maybe this was why she was coming over... Coming to assess his ability as a parent. With good reason to. People probably got children taken off them for less, especially these days, and especially with vultures like the Greengrasses circling. Going back to Diagon Alley would be horrible, but not as bad as watching Scorp go off without him with the knowledge that Granger thought him incapable of doing the trip himself. He'd have to delay the visit to his mother, to check up on her and talk to her about the many bottles of pills...

Draco moved his head under the jet to wash out the shampoo and shut his eyes as his thoughts once again returned to the muggle drugs. He had come close just now. Close to forgetting all the shit that came with the bliss the moment something scary had come up. He was so weak it was pathetic.

The pill bottle had remained shut ever since that Friday morning and Draco intended to keep it that way. But he hadn't banished them. Slowly his magic had returned, and though many times his wand had been merely inches from completing the spell, the motion had wavered. Draco had to come to the unsettling realisation that he just felt _better _if the bottle was still around. It was like an insurance, it wasn't hurting anyone. No matter how bad he felt in that moment he found it a small comfort that something close at hand was capable of making him feel so instantaneously wonderful.

Though of course he could fantasise about it, he'd never _dream_ of actually taking them again. He didn't need Harry's advice on that one. Apart from everything else, the absence of magic that he had felt as the drugs wore off had been the most alarming thing. More than the honesty, the lack of inhibitions, even the emotional mess he'd been left in afterwards. What it had felt like to be a _muggle... _

The thought still made him a twisted way he had been lucky that the pills had left him feeling so emotionally numb and empty. If Draco had been in his right state of mind he didn't think he would have been able to cope with the truly awful sensation of not sensing magic at the tip of his wand, his fingers, or in his being. The excruciating wait to find out if it would ever return was one of the worst aspects of the last few days. The memory of his mother uncaring over the location of her wand, unwilling to do magic, haunted him. Taunting him that that was also his future.

Draco did his best to ignore the extreme duality of his thinking, and refused to acknowledge how illogical he was being. Thoughts of happiness, laughter, comfort and shame and of his _muggleness,_ he did with them what he always did when presented with things he couldn't process: mentally locked them away where he didn't have to confront them. Just like the pill bottle. Hidden physically and magically. No one, especially Scorpius, would be able to find evidence of either.

He stepped from the shower and grabbed a towel. No, turning up high off muggle drugs to meet Hermione Granger with his son was the worst idea he'd ever had, he couldn't even believe it had entered his mind.

* * *

Hermione furiously tried to smooth down her hair as she walked along the road from Bethnal Green station. The wind on the platform had whipped it up into a frenzy and the humidity of the muggy, overcast day was helping to raise it up into an untameable explosion of frizz. When the smoothing only seemed to make matters worse, Hermione tried to tell herself how stupid she was being. She was here on professional business, no one cared about her hair.

She turned off the road and into a bleak muggle council estate. She frowned and double checked the address the boy had sent her, but everything seemed to be correct. _They live here? _She remembered Malfoy Manor and the albino peacocks, the vast lawns, the marble floor where she had been struck down and tortured... Hermione breathed in and out banishing that thought. It was long in the past, apparently just like Malfoy's old life and his standard of living. A couple of mangy foxes, a sad square of dead grass and vast swathes of graffitied concrete were the components of this landscape.

After finding the lift was broken and an exhausting climb up the stairs of their high rise, Hermione found herself outside their flat. She took a deep breath, feeling flushed and suddenly nervous and knocked on the door. It was opened by an equally nervous looking Scorpius. Hermione gave him a smile and a quick visual inspection. His face seemed a little pinched and tired, but physically he seemed fine. Harry's healing must have been thorough as his skin was white and unblemished. Behind him, Hermione could see Draco standing from the sofa. He came up behind his son, opened the door wider and gave her an uncertain smile. He didn't look good and if anything, worse than the other day, but she was hugely relieved to see he was up and was at least trying to appear normal.

"Miss Granger."

"Mr Malfoy." She smiled back, quietly relieved that he had initiated a formal greeting. It took away any decisions that she had failed to make on how to communicate with him based on their last couple of exchanges. Accosting him while drunk in Harry's upstairs hallway on Friday had been a particularly bad impulse of hers. She really wasn't sure where she stood anymore with him. Professionally, or personally. It unnerved her.

_Did he just look at my hair? _Before she could stop it one of her hands had traitorously whipped up to smooth it down and Malfoy's smile became wider. Though it didn't _seem_ malicious. Hermione felt herself blush at the same time that Malfoy looked away, the smile falling into slight frown. Was he thinking about the other day as well? That moment by the sink?

Hermione knew her awkwardness wasn't just due to her embarrassment over her Hogwarts level of hair frizz, or even that she knew Malfoy actually had a strong opinion on her hair. Really, it was because despite all of her other current worries and concerns, she was suddenly aware that she _actually cared_ about his opinion. Where had that come from?

"Hello Scorpius, are you ready to go?" She focussed on the boy, embarrassed for being so ridiculous. He nodded and looked falteringly at his dad.

"If it's alright, I'd like to come too." Malfoy told her. Hermione noticed Scorpius's eyes widen slightly. There were so many strange dynamics going on she didn't know how to take it.

"Scorpius, it's up to you?" She looked at the boy instead of his father.

"Um, I didn't tell my father about this until just now... But if he wants to..." He said to the floor with a shrug. Hermione nodded.

"I'm sorry, it's my fault I didn't get the message, not Scorp's. If you don't want me to come, Miss Granger, of course I'll stay at home. We don't want to waste your time." She lifted her gaze to the wizard and took in how anxiously he was watching her for a reaction.

She wavered briefly between her options. On the one hand it would be good to be able to talk to Scorpius alone, see if he could open up to her without his dad there. Despite her misgivings over keeping Malfoy in the dark if that was the only way to get him to talk then so be it. And things were clearly not OK between the pair. She could pick up the subtle undertones of tension even if it wasn't obvious. The slight physical distance between them, the fact Scorpius had yet to smile, let alone make eye contact with either of them, his closed body language and the slight puffiness he had around his eyes.

But on the other hand Malfoy was clearly desperate to come. And that must mean he was completely serious about spending time with Scorpius, seeing as last time he'd felt it necessary to drug himself up with god knows what before making the trip. To her huge relief he certainly seemed sober this time and she didn't want to drive the two further apart by insisting he stay behind. She'd also be able assess whether he was stable enough to take Harry's story about Scorp from the night before, as she so sorely hoped he was.

There was also the more unprofessional matter or her own burning curiosity. She'd be able to observe him and finally get to the bottom of what was going on. Even now, weeks later, she still felt unable to completely pin down _why_ they had chosen Burbage, and if Malfoy really had 'changed' as Harry was convinced. She just needed to see more _proof. _Yes, there were clues: the original acceptance letter, the interview, his inebriation and subsequent honesty at the barbecue, Scorpius's worrying secrets, even the place they called home. The various exchanges and meetings and flashes of unexpected personality all wound together, tangling into a deeper and even more confusing mess. It dragged Hermione's subconscious will towards a decision before she'd even acknowledged it.

Orla was going to kill her, but really, she told herself, it was her responsibility. So she gave them a slow nod. "No. No, it would be good for you to come." Malfoy's eyes widened. He'd obviously been expecting a different answer, maybe a bit of a fight. "So, can we Disapparate from here?" She said, businesslike.

"No, we can't from the flat." Malfoy said, recovering, giving her a small smile. "It's heavily warded. I'm pretty paranoid about security." They moved out into the hall and Draco locked the door with his wand, before leading them to the stairs.

"I can tell. No floo, deep in muggle London. How many people even know you're here? How to reach you?" Malfoy shrugged.

"Not many do. Most of the wizards I'm still in contact with would never set foot in a place like this so we're pretty safe." _That's an interesting attitude._

They began to walk up the stairs. Scorpius was hanging back looking extremely edgy. He craned his neck over the banister, apparently trying to see to the bottom floor.

"He's checking to see if his friends are around. I can be pretty embarrassing apparently." Malfoy told Hermione with a crooked smile. She hadn't imagined he could be self deprecating, or maybe he was attempting to make her feel more comfortable? She gave him a half smile but looked back at the boy and knew he was misinterpreting things. Scorpius looked far too worried to merely be thinking about his friends.

They finally reached a door that Malfoy unlocked and re locked behind them and stepped out on to the roof.

"Leaky Cauldron?" she said. The wizard nodded and rested his hand on his son's arm. Hermione span on the spot, was whipped through space and landed ungracefully on cool flagstones. She looked up to see Malfoy helping Scorpius to his feet, both pairs of eyes darting around the pub nervously. Hermione suddenly wished she could do something to make them both more comfortable. She realised what it must be taking them to be here, especially Draco. He was watching the surrounding witches and wizards with the air of someone expecting derision and mistrust. Of course, that's what he'd probably receive if he were to approach anyone, and judging from the sideways looks they were already receiving, it was a well placed fear.

She stood up straight, ignored the rest of the room and gave them both a confident smile that she didn't feel.

"So! Flourish and Blotts first?"

* * *

Hermione Granger had changed a lot since school. Draco hadn't noticed before, given the circumstances of their previous meetings, but now he had a chance to observe her he picked up on slight differences that marked her out from the girl he had once bullied, jeered at and silently watched from afar.

There were the obvious things like the way she walked. Of course physically she wasn't weighed down by a satchel straining with heavy books, but it was more the confidence with which she carried herself. As if she knew her rightful place in the world and not only felt she deserved it, but expected it. His mother would have once been impressed by her grace, and would have been incredibly surprised to find out she was not a pureblood.

She was calmer as well. He couldn't imagine this woman would ever become almost hysterical in her eagerness to please, to answer a question right or to offer her opinion on any topic she heard, as she once was. She was harder for Draco to read; her initial reactions to situations weren't immediately obvious in the way they once had been, like she really thought about what she wanted to say before opening her mouth. Whereas once, along with most of her friends, her emotions had stood out almost comically, begging for him to take advantage of, now her face was as carefully controlled as his in their interactions. Maybe even more so. It had taken Draco by surprise when she'd come to the decision earlier that he could accompany them to Diagon Alley. Surprise that he himself had failed to cover.

There would have been something alarming about these changes if earlier that month he hadn't been on the receiving end of what, surprisingly, he was relieved to find was one of the most _unchanged_ aspects of Granger: her ability to become easily provoked by what she perceived as the merest hint of injustice. Why he should care that she had held on to this fault was beyond him. He had purposefully induced it many times, and though it had always given him a dark satisfaction to see the girl snap and lose control, this afternoon he found that being the person she was protecting evoked a far more wholesome feeling. He felt touched and a completely stunned that anyone would ever defend him, let alone that it was _her. _

They were in Quality Quidditch Supplies and he had been looking at brooms with Scorpius when it had happened. By this point he'd long given up trying to suck up to the witch. She clearly wasn't falling for it and it had begun to feel a bit humiliating; as if he was back in a class with McGonagall. So he focussed all his efforts on his son. It had taken a long time for Scorp to relax and to become less distant, but by this point he had recovered a touch of his usual childlike enthusiasm. Draco had felt incredibly relieved that he seemed to have been forgiven, and perhaps things could return to normal.

"James told me that my Supreme does 0-150 miles an hour in 7.5 seconds!" He pointed to the broom they were examining. "The newest Comet, however, only does it in 10. That's only as fast as the _last_ model of Firebolt that came out, and that was in 1993! Before I was even _born!" _ Draco felt his heart ache in a sudden swell of happiness and love for his son. He didn't even notice Hermione observing him, nor the approach of the shop manager.

"We don't serve Death Eaters in here." The harsh voice rang out like a curse, killing the relaxed atmosphere and the ambient noise of the other shoppers. Draco's hand immediately went to Scorpius's shoulder and as he turned around he pulled the boy behind him. Draco met the stony glare of the woman before him, taking in the firm set of her mouth, her stance that offered no compromise. The burst of happiness left him as suddenly as it had arrived. He could feel the eyes of everyone watching him to see what would happen next, to see if he would kick off.

"We're just looking, we're not after trouble." He made a conciliatory gesture with his hand, the other gave Scorpius a reassuring squeeze.

"I want you to get out. You're scaring off my customers." He could feel Scorp start to shake behind him and felt a spike of anger and bitter frustration. Draco could let the words roll off him; he'd heard far worse than this, but his son didn't have such a tough shell. And Draco wanted to keep it that way. It would be best just to get them out of there before things could escalate and she could upset Scorp further. He wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders, brought him to his side and began to walk towards the door.

"I'm sorry, but I don't see any customers who are scared." Granger had stepped in front of him, blocking his exit. The shopkeeper turned her glare to the witch instead.

"They are. I just had a complaint."

"You shouldn't be submitting to the lowest common denominator. This shop is full of people, no one else seems to have a problem with my friend here." _Her friend?_ Draco felt more stunned by that than anything the shopkeeper could throw at him.

"Let's just leave." He told her quietly. She turned her face towards him and he saw that familiar, angry look of moral outrage. Combined with her terribly bushy hair he suddenly felt sixteen again and back at school.

"This is my establishment, I have a right to serve who I want. And that doesn't include people like _him."_ Hermione turned back to the irate woman and Draco shook himself from his split second trance.

"People like _him_ have a right to be able to move on and get on with their lives. The child hasn't done anything to deserve this treatment. He wasn't even alive during the war." The shopkeeper's eyes darted nervously around the room. Clearly she hadn't anticipated one of the Golden Trio jumping to their defence. Draco hadn't either. It felt wholly bizarre.

He looked down at Scorpius. His face was etched in worry as he quailed under the open gazes of the surrounding witches and wizards. As if the confrontation had given them permission to inspect the boy as unashamedly as they wanted. Draco made up his mind, tightened his grip on his shoulders, and stepped around Hermione. He told her they'd be outside and strode them from the shop, shielding Scorp as best he could.

A minute later Hermione emerged behind them. She was shaking slightly and her flyaway hair seemingly crackling with static, or maybe it was magic. The overall effect was slightly alarming. Draco straightened up from where he'd been crouching, talking to Scorpius. Trying to reassure him, to regain the smile he'd worked so hard to achieve. To dispel the anxious, faraway frown.

"I'm sorry." She told them.

"For what?" Draco said. It hadn't been her fault. She made a jerky, exasperated gesture.

"For everything! It's so unfair! You shouldn't have to put up with that! The war was a long time ago! You went to Azkaban for years, you didn't walk free! People need to get over it." She was talking fast, sincerity in every look and gesture. Draco felt himself smile, a trickle of warmth spreading at her outrage on _his_ behalf, not even just for his son. It was the first time he'd seen her displaying such overt emotion since the fateful interview day and the difference in the context of her outrage was extreme. It wasn't lost on him.

"Well, I expected it to happen sooner or later. The words don't affect me really," which was the surprising truth. Draco found the looks and whispers much harder to deal with; what he _imagined_ people were thinking. The shopkeeper's words seemed friendly and reasonable in comparison to what was in his own head. He didn't tell Hermione this of course.

"It's Scorp that I worry about." He told her more quietly. They both looked at the boy who was stood slightly apart from them, distantly watching the passers by. To Draco's relief no one seemed to be giving them any further attention.

"But - but it just makes me so _angry. _That she can do that to a child. How can you just accept this?!" She asked him imploringly, lowering her voice to match his.

"I am angry. But I'm angry for him, not for me. Of course it's not right that he has to suffer for my mistakes, but that's how it is." _Just like I had to suffer for my own father's_. "I've accepted that and sadly, he will grow up and have to get used to it too. I can't do anything about it. It's everything the Malfoy name stands for, our role as a family in the war. Our support of the Dark Lord was so public, so widely known. I can't expect people to get over that." He explained patiently. He wasn't even trying to appear unaffected to win points with the witch. He found himself talking completely honestly.

"Even after so long? You went to Azkaban! You aren't the same person any more." She said, repeating herself in indignation. "You really aren't. Are you?" Her voice had become calmer, almost wondrous and Draco felt himself squirm at the directness of her gaze. The way she seemed to be trying to glimpse the _real_ Draco, whoever that was. At least, he belatedly realised later on, perhaps this had meant he'd passed whatever test the witch had been putting him through.

"But I did fight for the wrong side, people won't forget. I don't know who that woman was. My actions may have led to her sister, or cousin or uncle being killed," he said, attempting to draw the witch away from delving into such personal depths and making any more uncomfortable observations.

"How are you so calm about this?" He shrugged, smiling slightly as her voice wavered.

"What else can I do? It happened a long time ago. The only thing slightly within my control is the extent to which I can protect Scorp from it all. It's one of the reasons I'm sending him to your school. At least there he's unlikely to encounter as much prejudice." Suddenly the boy was wound around his torso with a needy urgency. Draco rubbed his hands across his shoulders, alarmed at the sudden contact. It wasn't like Scorp to be demonstrative in public.

"Hey, are you alright?" Scorpius was staring up towards Gringotts with what could only be described as a look of fear. Draco frowned and followed his gaze. There was nothing that stood out, just a few witches and wizards milling around, some waiting, some walking. But Scorpius looked like he had seen a ghost. "Who is it Scorp?"

"Please can we just go?" His face was pressing into his father's side and Draco could only just make out the words. He looked up to Hermione who was watching them worriedly. Maybe Scorp had just had enough of being the subject of their conversation.

"Of course." He stroked the silky blond hair and shrugged at the witch. She checked her watch.

"I've still got an hour before I need to get back. What do you say we get out of here, go somewhere where we're a bit more... anonymous?" Draco raised an eyebrow. She wanted to spend _more_ time with them? That was unexpected, and - nice.

"Muggle London?" He asked. Hermione seemed to be watching him even more intently than usual and nodded. "What do you say Scorp?" A muffled sound of assent. He smiled at her. "Sure, where do you have in mind?"


	14. Forgiveness and Trust

Chapter 14 - Forgiveness and Trust

The small muggle cafe Hermione took the two Malfoys to was a world away from Diagon Alley. It was plain, clean and unfussy. The staff were friendly, the other customers paid them no attention as the waitress led them to a table near the back. No whispers followed them, no turned heads and no meaningful looks.

Hermione, having been best friends with Harry for twenty years was used to receiving attention, but with Malfoy it had been a wholly different, far more unpleasant experience. He already seemed to be relaxing though. His gait had lengthened as they walked away from the Leaky Cauldron down Charring Cross Road, his back was straight and his eyes seemed to have lost their nervous anticipation.

Scorpius on the other hand, was still the same bag of nerves he'd been all morning. He sat at the chair with its back to the wall, facing the the rest of the cafe. Every time the bell rang on the door as someone walked in he jumped slightly. Both adults watched as repeatedly his eyes darted up to see another muggle enter or exit, and then back down to his lap, their own exchange of looks communicating the depth of their shared concern. Finally, after Malfoy's soothing words failed to make an impression, he grasped Scorpius's hands, brought them together between his own and began to rub them, as if warming them up. He smiled and managed to hold Scorpius's flickering gaze long enough for some of his message to sink in.

"No one here is going to kick us out, Scorp. We're safe. No one will find us here."

These words, that should never have been spoken to a child as a form of comfort, created an ache in Hermione so strong she had to look away. She still felt raw from the attack in the Quidditch shop, having barely kept herself together. She'd watched the woman approach, seen as Malfoy's expression, unshielded and loving instantly shut down as he turned to face her. Scorpius, so taciturn before, only just managing to emotionally open up, became smaller and frightened. All of Malfoy's progress with him gone in a heartbeat.

And Hermione's own heartbeat had pounded uncontrollably as she watched the shopkeeper dole out her spiteful abuse. Her own anger had risen, fanned not just by revulsion and disbelief that someone could do that to a child, but by a horrible sliver of guilt. Because Hermione had done something similar. She had also jumped at the chance to remind Malfoy of what he was, of his past, in front of Scorpius. The interview at Burbage was recent enough for the guilt to still sting like a fresh wound, but she knew now that was nothing compared to what it must have felt like to the child. Of having the shame of your families past evils hanging over you, blinding whoever you meet.

Hermione remembered the boy's small, frame, hunched over and staring at his hands as his father had left the room. Lips pursed tightly as he struggled not to cry. How many times would a child live through that without suffering lasting damage? Damage she herself had added to and perhaps had already taken root. Scorpius Malfoy wasn't crying today. Although he was looking at his father, his face was impassive, and Hermione thought his small twitch of a smile seemed to be more to reassure his dad than to express relief at his comforting words. As his father released his hands and turned away to talk to the waitress Hermione saw the smile instantly drop as once again his blue eyes flickered to the door.

She distractedly gave her own order and her gaze slid from the younger to the elder Malfoy. He met her eyes with a slight grimace and Hermione reminded herself why she was there. She had come to the conclusion that it was essential that Malfoy be filled in on the details of Scorpius's fight and flight to Harry's. The decision had been easy. Nothing about Malfoy today had suggested that he shouldn't be told about his son. He had been responsible, decisive and thankfully, completely lucid. Now she just needed to wait until they were alone.

"So, what are your other plans today?" Malfoy asked after a moment of silence. Hermione shifted as he broke through her thoughts. Was he making small talk? It was such an absurdly normal question after everything that had happened. He gave her a half smile as she cleared her head.

"Just some meetings, usual stuff." Malfoy gave a slight encouraging nod and Hermione found herself clarifying. "Well - There's a muggle psychologist coming in to give a workshop to the teachers about discipline..." He nodded and looked thoughtful.

"I've heard there's been a renaissance in the more traditional methods. String 'em up by the ankles, chaining wrists to the ceiling. That kind of thing usually works for me and Scorp, doesn't it?"

The laugh that burst from Hermione seemed to catch them all unexpected. Malfoy's earnest expression of mild interest broke into a slightly surprised grin and he brought his hand up to ruffle the back of Scorpius's hair, who smiled falteringly. The moment seemed to dispel some of the tension and Hermione felt herself relaxing.

"Yes exactly. I've got a excellent selection of oiled chains and for the _particularly_ naughty students there's always the choky..." Hermione raised her eyebrows in a gesture of solemnity and ignored Malfoy's confused frown as she watched Scorpius. It was a gamble but to her delight and relief he glanced at her and grinned. It was looking like Scorpius Malfoy's muggle pop culture education was surprisingly extensive. She winked at him.

"Excuse me, but what is a _choky_?" Malfoy drawled. Scorpius turned to his dad. Hermione had to hide her smirk behind her hand as he gave a perfect performance. His patient explanation was a perfect mimicry of what she was discovering of Malfoy's own dark, dry humour. He was like a small, sweet version of Draco.

"Father, the choky is a tiny, dark, scary room that's full of spikes so you can't lean against the wall. It's where kids are kept for a few hours if they're bad. You get them in most muggle schools."

"Right." Malfoy drew the word out as he regarded Hermione levelly.

"Yes, it's perfectly true. Muggles really are the experts when it comes to methods of discipline. I had mine installed last week," she managed to deadpan before meeting Scorpius's eyes. Her mouth quirked in a barely suppressed smile and then they both burst out in laughter. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Let me guess, a muggle reference that of course I won't get." He said, patiently.

"It's from Matilda! It's a movie I watched round Jakes last year. Even though, we're _kinda _too old for it, but it's really good! It's about a girl who has a horrible muggle family. She discovers she's a witch, learns how to do magic just from looking at stuff and then gets revenge on them! You'd like it Father. She'd be a Slytherin," Scorpius said, as if that settled it. Hermione noticed he hadn't even checked the door once during this speech.

"A child learning to control her accidental magic wandlessly?" Malfoy asked slowly, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah! And she's got an evil headmistress who locks kids up in the choky, even when they've done nothing wrong -" Hermione met Malfoy's eyes as Scorpius started to warm to the topic. He mouthed '_thanks' _at her with a small smile_._

_ "-_and _then_ she goes to Miss Trunchbull's house in the middle of the night and -"

"Hey! Don't tell us the whole plot! I might want to watch it!" Malfoy interrupted. Scorpius bit his lips and grinned at his dad as the waitress came over carrying their teas.

There was a moment of silence as they were passed around and when she was back out of earshot Malfoy leant in conspiratorially and spoke in a low voice.

"Muggles certainly do have a incredible imagination, don't they?" Scorp nodded earnestly. Hermione cocked her head and unconsciously brought a hand up to run her fingers through her hair.

"They certainly do," she said gently and Malfoy pulled back and regarded her intently. He frowned, opened his mouth and then bit his lip. Then he spoke slowly, dropping his gaze down to stare at the teaspoon he was turning around in his hands.

"Muggles are... surprising to say the least." He paused, "It's certainly easy to underestimate - what they have achieved. And their ability -" He put down the spoon and looked away awkwardly. It was a strange, nebulous admission. He sounded as if he were speaking his thoughts, and they were still half formed and intangible. Certainly not designed to achieve any concrete reaction.

Hermione found herself slightly taken aback. This time however, not necessarily out of shock that Malfoy could hold less than terrible views on muggles, (for she was getting used to that,) but how relatively unprompted he had been to share his thoughts. She had assumed at Harry's barbecue it was the potion overdose that had caused his honesty, but perhaps it was more innate than that.

She thought back to what Harry had said that night. Who did Malfoy have to talk to? To share those unnerving thoughts that enter the mind and throw into question everything one has been taught? Hermione felt herself soften further to the man and when he raised his eyes back to hers she gave him a small smile. They held each others gaze for a moment, and Malfoy suddenly seemed to shake himself.

"That all sounds fascinating. Muggle discipline lecture." He leant back in his chair and his voice had returned to it's loud confident drawl. "What other interesting events are happening in the day of Headmistress Granger?"_ If in doubt, return to the tried and tested Malfoy drawl, _Hermione thought. She sighed, feeling a slight swell of disappointment.

"Well, later this morning I've got a meeting with an older gentleman... He's thinking about leaving Burbage some money in his will. I've got to try and convince him we're worth it." She made an involuntary grimace as she took a sip of tea and Malfoy smirked, completing the transformation back to his old self. "Go on, what's so funny?" Hermione asked, tiredly.

"I just can't imagine _you_ trying to butter anyone up. Must be excruciatingly awkward."

"Well, I'm confident that showing him the school, what we do and what I'm planning on doing will be enough." But Malfoy was shaking his head and his narrowed eyes looked amused. "Don't you think?"

"I know enough to know you need to do more than that... I spent many thrilling childhood holidays being dragged by my father on deals to observe how things worked, meeting potential partners and being used as fodder to secure - _clients_. The more charming and precocious I was, the more likely my father was to succeed." His voice was nonchalant although his smirk had turned slightly sour. "Squeezing money out of rich old purebloods was one of his favourite things to do. Believe me, it takes more than just the facts to gain someone's favour."

"But this man isn't a pureblood. He's a muggleborn who made his fortune in the muggle world."

Malfoy shrugged. "Rich old men are all the same. Appeal to his ego and pride, how much you admire what he's done and especially how important his donation would be to you personally." He laughed slightly at her distasteful expression and Hermione felt herself begin to blush. She wasn't _that_ naive, she just wasn't used to hearing it spelled out like this. Malfoy leant in and rested his elbows on the table, fixing her with a look. His voice was low and cajoling.

"Come on Granger, surely you couldn't have got to where you are without at least giving into your _dark _side on occasion. I'm sure you've got one in there somewhere." Hermione felt the heat climb further up her cheeks and she broke eye contact. Though almost immediately she berated herself for becoming so easily flustered. Malfoy shouldn't be having this effect on her. Not again. She collected herself, hoping he hadn't noticed and leant back, flashing him a cool smile.

"You believe what you want, Malfoy. I'm not about to share those secrets so readily." He chuckled approvingly and to her slight alarm Hermione found herself pleased. She hurriedly checked her watch. She was running out of time. At this rate she'd need actually pull Malfoy away to get him on his own. However, it wasn't like she was having a _bad _time... She glanced back up and saw he was still watching her. Apparently he wasn't done with the conversation either.

"How did you achieve Headmistress so young anyway? It's a massive achievement. I'm picturing dodgy back room deals, big bribes, favours_, extreme _name dropping," Malfoy deadpanned. Hermione smiled and winked at Scorpius who had just looked up from drawing on his napkin.

"Yeah, all of that, of course. Well I joined Burbage about seven years ago as the Transfiguration teacher."

"Transfiguration? I'd have pegged you for Arithmancy."

"You know my favourite subject?" she asked before she could stop herself. Malfoy frowned.

"Well, coming consistently second to someone does cause a slight, _interest_ to develop in their marks..." he said, slightly awkwardly. Hermione saw Scorp trying to hide a smile in his teacup.

"Well - yes. It's not the field I'm most passionate about, but I was frustrated in my old job and was pretty keen to get to Burbage."

"And before that?" he asked. Hermione hesitated. Was he really interested, or was this just the 'appeal to the ego' part of buttering up someone in power? He had certainly been attempting that earlier today and she'd rather hoped they were past that.

He seemed to read her thoughts however. "No, I'm genuinely curious. I always assumed you, Weasley and Potter would be Aurors out fighting dark wizards. Things haven't turned out for you lot as I expected." Hermione took a long sip of tea as she thought about how much to tell him. That period in their lives had been so confusing and difficult it was hard to know how to condense it. She began to talk slowly.

"Well, things certainly started out that way. Harry was the first to drop out of Auror training. Broke up with Ginny, came out. He'd disappear for weeks at a time, into the muggle world I think. Things - weren't great for Harry." _To put it lightly. _She paused and took another drink of tea. "It put a massive strain on all of us, particularly Ron. Eventually we broke up. It all made me realise he wasn't who I wanted him to be, and I wasn't what he wanted either... Sorry, that's irrelevant." She frowned and looked away. She hadn't meant to talk about her failed relationship but it had been such a massive part of her life back then it was hard to avoid. Malfoy probably couldn't care less about all that.

"No don't worry. I have to admit, I kind of assumed you'd be married with a bunch of mini Weasels. I mean, Weasleys, sorry," he said with a grin that made his apology sound about as insincere as possible. She smiled grimly.

"Well I know that's what he wanted. But not me. That whole thing with Harry and then with Ron made me question a lot of things about myself. I realised I didn't want to carry on fighting, it wasn't making me happy..."

"So you...?" he prompted

"Dropped out, got a job at the newly revamped Muggle Relations Office and amongst other things began to lobby the Ministry for change. At that time harming a muggle with magic still carried a far lesser sentence in Azkaban than doing it to a witch or wizard."

"And you changed that?" He actually looked impressed.

"Yes. Well no, our team did. Though it wasn't all victories. Eventually I got bored of the bureaucracy and politics and decided that working at Burbage High was the most direct way to help muggleborns." Her voice began to pick up speed and expression as she became more comfortable. "It was always my ambition to be Head. There's so much potential at the school that it's not reaching. The students are so talented in their own way, and I know how much they can achieve if we allow them to. I know I'll be the one to turn that around." Malfoy's eyebrows were slightly raised and suddenly Hermione became aware at how arrogant she had sounded. "I mean, I hope I can, I've got a lot of help, and of course I never expected to be made Head so young" she added. Malfoy frowned.

"No, don't put yourself down. If that was your ambition and you've achieved that then you should be incredibly proud. And if you know you can change things, then don't pretend to ashamed of that belief. When have you ever failed at anything? You've earned the right to make announcements like that." His grey eyes stared directly into her's and she found herself momentarily lost for words. A part of her knew she should be questioning his sincerity, but somehow she couldn't manage to. She felt herself smile. Malfoy's eyes flickered to her mouth and then he was smiling too. It was not his usual self aware smirk but genuine and spontaneous. A smile that touched his eyes and served no purpose other than to express his pleasure that she had not rebuffed his words.

Scorpius stood suddenly and announced he was going to the bathroom. Hermione blinked, the spell with Malfoy broken, and suddenly realised with a nervous flip of her stomach that this was the moment she had been waiting for.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked his son. He received an eye roll in return.

"Yes, father. I'm _fine_. You don't need to hold my hand to go to the loo."

The adults watched him go and Hermione leant forward and began to talk quickly before the wizard could speak. The quicker she could get this out in the open, the better.

"Malfoy. Yesterday evening Scorpius turned up at Harry's house-" but he frowned and interrupted her.

"I know, I know -"

"No, please let me finish. He turned up, incredibly distressed. He was hurt and covered in bruises. He told Harry he'd been in a fight with some muggles." Malfoy went very still, and even though physically nothing changed, Hermione felt like she could see the shock in his eyes. She looked into them and forced herself to continue, telling herself that this was the right thing to do. "He was very scared, scared to go home. He also told Harry not to tell you any of this. Scorpius is incredibly worried about you, Draco, he thought that this would be too upsetting for you to hear. It's why he went to Harry, I think." She stopped talking and waited for him to break his silence. But he didn't. He could have been a statue. She took a deep breath, and continued to talk.

"I don't believe in keeping parents in the dark about things like this. Scorpius may believe that he's got to suffer with this alone and he's got it in his head that he has to protect you, but that isn't how it should be for a child." She paused, not wanting to overstep the mark. She wanted to say so much more, really shake it into him, to get him to understand his responsibility and that nothing like this could ever happen again. Not Scorpius getting in trouble - kids would always find themselves in dangerous situations, but that he felt more comfortable talking to strangers about it than his own father.

But even after the change she had witnessed in the wizard today, he was still Malfoy and she knew better than to outright disparage his parenting ability. It would be _particularly_ patronising coming from a person with no children of her own. She continued to speak, this time more gently.

"Sometimes in my work I meet children that grow up too fast and try to shoulder so much eventually it breaks them. If there's another option, another way, then I make it my job to ensure it happens." _To stop what happened to us, happen to the next generation. _To what had happened to her. The distant strained relationship she had with her own parents was not one she wished on anyone.

At her words the spell over Malfoy was broken and he winced, slowly bringing his hands up to grip his jaw. He shut his eyes. Hermione worried she had gone too far, explained too much too quickly and overstepped their boundaries. But when he spoke she was relieved to hear he was not angry.

"Thank you. Thank you for telling me this. You're right. Of course." His voice shook slightly from behind his hands as if he couldn't quite reconcile what emotion to inject into it. He opened his eyes back up and gazed at the witch.

"You should take Scorpius back to see Al and James. Don't be angry with Harry. I don't think he'd decided not to tell you. It just would've taken him a bit longer to realise what I did. He probably sees a lot of himself in Scorpius and ever since we were kids Harry's always wanted to deal with things alone." Draco nodded and brought his hands down and placed them calmly on the table.

"I was. I am. Planning on taking Scorp over I mean." He said. Hermione nodded again, and automatically began to drop her hand to rest on his. Halfway down she caught herself and veered to her teacup. Luckily Malfoy hadn't noticed. She spoke slowly now, trying to get him to understand what she was inferring through the words, but didn't have quite the courage to say.

"No one should have to suffer with their problems alone. Scorpius, nor you. Harry isn't just offering Scorpius a place of sanctuary and friendship, but to you too." _And I am as well._ Malfoy's eyes dropped from her's just as Scorpius walked back from the loo. He sat back down at the table and in turn took in his father who was staring silently into his tea and then gave Hermione a small questioning frown. She sent him a small smile and a mental apology and stood up to leave.

"I need to get back. Scorpius, Draco, it's been a pleasure. Scorpius, I'm sure I'll be seeing you around before the end of the holiday. I'll send over my owl this evening. You can borrow her for as long as you need." She gave them both one last nod, turned to leave and was nearing the door before she felt a hand grip her shoulder. She turned and found Draco gazing at her with that now familiar intensity.

"I need to thank you, Hermione." He spoke quietly and with complete seriousness. Gone was any veneer of arrogance, of disdainful amusement. His face was clear and open. She smiled, warmth spreading from her heart, despite the solemnity of the situation. She knew instinctively that she had made the right decision.

"There's no need to thank me, honestly."

"No, there is. Thank you for trusting me. No one has, for a long time. Thank you for today, for it all. After everything." His voice was deep and the simple words were weighted a hundred hidden meanings. She understood and nodded.

"I'll see you soon." The sentence was generic enough but the resulting small smile that came to Malfoy's lips was anything but.

"Yes, I would like that," she said with a smile of her own.

They parted, and Hermione walked away. In spite of everything that had happened she felt more light and full of optimism in that moment than she had done in a long time.

* * *

Draco didn't sit back down after Miss Granger left but instead jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom. Scorpius felt the near constant feeling of unease he'd had all day return in a rush and pool in his stomach into something far more tangible: dread. _He knew! Harry must have told her and she just told him._ Scorpius tried to swallow the bitter, metallic tang that had flooded his mouth and stood up to follow, feeling as if weights were tied to his feet. _How much does he know? How angry will he be? _ Draco didn't meet his eyes until the split second before they Disapparated in one of the toilet stalls. What Scorp imagined he saw there made him want to sink into the ground, but it was too late and within a flash they were back up on the roof of their building.

They were nearly at their floor when they turned a corner on the staircase and saw Dan, one of boys who'd been on the job yesterday with him. Scorpius froze and felt the familiar, now horrible, pulse of adrenaline shoot through him. But Dan wasn't his enemy. Scorpius had escaped yesterday, run because he'd been able to get away, any of them would have done the same. They wouldn't blame him for abandoning them, would they? Dan passed him with barely a muttered hello. This was bad. Scorpius frowned and looked at his father who was watching him silently.

"Father, I need to -"

"No. You are coming home with me, now."

"Please! Please, I need to talk to him."

"Is this about yesterday?" Scorpius blinked and nodded slightly. Draco sighed and rubbed his eyes before dragging his hand over his face. Scorpius held his breath. "Fine. If you are not back home within the next two minutes I am coming to find you. You will talk to your friend, then come home _immediately._ Am I clear?" The boy nodded, unable to find his voice. Draco turned and continued down the stairs and Scorpius ran up the opposite direction.

"Dan!" The older boy stopped and turned back a few steps above him. Scorpius felt absurdly small as he craned his neck to look up at him.

"You alright Shawn?" Dan said. Scorpius shrugged and waited for him to say something about yesterday. But he didn't and had began to turn back around. _What? Surely he has something to say to me?!_

"You alright?" Scorpius repeated, lamely. He wanted to apologise for running off, but couldn't find the words. The older boy snorted.

"Not really."

"How are the others?"

"So. You heard about our little attempt on Mr Bhullar? What a fuckin' mess." Scorpius didn't understand. He had _been_ there, what was Dan talking about?

"Is Callum okay?" The older boy snorted and shook his head.

"It's bad man. Callum had to go to A&amp;E and then they still nicked 'im. And Craig too. They got 'em for attempted armed robbery and Callum's gonna get GBH cos he fuckin' stabbed some bint and that. She had to go to hospital too, there was so much blood man, it was messy. It was only gonna be a quick job. Run in, grab stuff, run out. I dunno know what Callum was playing at." Scorpius swallowed. Hearing it out loud like this brought it all crashing back home again. "Yeah he's fucked alright. The only reason why I'm out is cos I didn't have a knife like the others." The boy shook his head. "It's too close man. Gotta go back to the station tomorrow, me mums sayin' she's gonna fucking kill me, social services are gettin' involved seeing as I'm still a kid an all that. It's fucked. You know, you's lucky."

The older boy gave an aggressive snort of laughter and Scorpius opened his mouth to apologise. But Dan got in there before he could spit it out. "Callum was talkin' 'bout gettin' you in the other day. Thought you'd be an asset on the job. Being as how small and fast you is. Couldn't find you anywhere though. Looks like you got away easy." Scorpius felt his mouth drop open.

"But - But - I was there!" He squeaked.

"Where? Callum said he looked for you, but you weren't at home."

"No, I mean, I was at the shop! I came on the job!" The look he received was of exaggerated confusion.

"Nah mate, it was just me, Craig and Callum," Dan said slowly.

"I - I was the lookout." Scorpius whispered.

"Whatever man, I always knew you was weird. Anyway, I gotta get back. See ya later." And with one last shake of his head he was walking up the stairs, leaving Scorpius reeling. He stared at his retreated back, unseeing. What was going on? Did Dan _honestly_ think that he had never been there? And did he not even remember the evening before, when they'd sat round in Callum's bedroom planning it?

Scorpius made it back down the stairs in a daze, his thoughts in a tangled disarray. His mind seemed unable to process what had happened. _How _did someone just forget something like that? And what about the others?If Dan had no memory of him being there then what about Callum?

Scorpius leant against the wall outside his front door and closed his eyes, attempting to calm the chaos of his mind enough to try and make sense of what was happening. He forced himself to think about the events of the day before. Something he'd been studiously avoiding all day. Suddenly he remembered - his accidental magic! Perhaps he had memory charmed them as well? But, that was just too ridiculous, it wouldn't be possible...

His eyes snapped open and everything seemed to slide into place. It was him! That strange, watching man: the wizard. It _must_ have been him. Scorpius had seen him earlier in Diagon Alley. He'd been standing in the shadow of a shop further up the street and watched them get kicked out of the Quidditch shop. Scorpius had always known at the back of his mind that he must have been a wizard, and now there was proof. But what was his interest in Scorpius? And what did he have to gain from wiping the evidence that he had been involved in the crime?

He had assumed the man was an enemy, but helping him out like this didn't make sense... A thought entered his mind that was so welcome and comforting he accepted it eagerly. Maybe he was - a friend? Perhaps what Scorpius had originally interpreted as stalking was actually the man watching over him? Maybe yesterday he'd somehow known he was in trouble! Earlier, when he'd noticed him spying on them in the street, maybe the creepy smile had actually been a smile of reassurance as he checked up on Scorp.

A tiny breath of hope flickered within his chest. If his mates had forgotten about his involvement, then maybe the shopkeeper and the men that grabbed him had been memory charmed as well? And the police may have never been told... Maybe he wasn't going to get caught... And the Aurors would never come for him! The thought gave him such an unexpected blessed relief he felt like he would float away. The heaviness he had carried around since yesterday afternoon was lightening into nothing.

So wrapped up in these thoughts Scorpius had completely forgotten about what was waiting for him at home. He opened the front door and the sound of his dad's quiet voice brought it all crashing back down.

"I need to talk to you." Scorpius slowly turned on the spot and saw his father sitting on the sofa. The man gestured towards himself and he walked slowly over, still feeling numb and strange with shock at what he'd just discovered. To his enormous surprise his father held out a hand and took one of the boy's hands in his own. He pulled him down to sit next to him. Scorpius raised his eyes slowly and instead of the anger as he'd been expecting he saw - sadness? It was even worse. That was exactly what he'd wanted to avoid. He'd trusted Harry with his secret and now his Dad knew, and he would go back to bed, and not get up again, and take those drugs, and - He blinked, trying to focus on his dad, becoming aware that he was talking to him and using that solemn tone that was only ever used in serious moments.

"Scorpius. Whatever you tell me, I promise you I will not disappear into that bedroom again. I swear it." It was almost like he read his mind. But Scorpius knew there was a big difference between those words and what ended up eventually happening anyway. "No matter what you've done, or who you've become friends with, what you've become involved in, I want you to know that I will always love you. Do you understand? Nothing you could tell me would shock me and I will love you just the same."

Slowly Scorpius raised his eyes back to meet his father's and saw that a look of determination had replaced the sadness. He nodded, to what - he wasn't sure; the words had barely penetrated through the hazy film of shock. There was too much happening at once, too much to take in. He had just found out he was free, but now he was meant to tell his dad about the knife, how they'd targeted an electrical shop, about Callum and the girl who'd bled so much she'd had to go to hospital? Was he supposed to be saying the truth? He knew His father may still _love_ him if he knew, but he would never love him in the same way again. He couldn't risk it. And Scorpius cared about his opinion too much for that. Loved him too much to jeopardise his recovery.

"I don't want to hear a story, Scorp. Please tell me what's going on with you. I feel like I'm losing you. And that's not your fault. It's completely mine. Help me make this better." His dad lifted his other hand to his son's chin and pulled his face gently back towards his own. Draco was smiling gently and it made Scorpius's heart twinge in guilt.

"I never thanked you for looking after me the last few days. Thank you. Thank you for making sure I ate and drank water, and for bringing me Harry's letters." Scorpius nodded and forced out a smile. It felt like a grimace. "Now, you need to let me look after you. I'm so sorry about last night. There's absolutely no excuse for what I said about you and Harry. I'm completely ashamed. Especially since - since you went to him for help." His voice was wavering slightly. "I want to be there for you next time. Next time you're hurt and you need me. I will be there for you. Do you understand?"

The boy nodded again, just to show that he had heard. "I can see I've got a lot of proving myself to you and that's what I expected. Malfoys should expect a lot, and once someone loses your trust and respect, it takes a lot to get it back, maybe not ever. That's what my father always told me anyway."

Scorpius let out a deep breath and sensed that his dad was coming to the end of his speech and would expect him to start talking soon. "I'm going to be doing everything I can to get your trust and respect back. If you can, if you trust me even a little, tell me what's going on, because nothing you say is going to send me back into that room." His dad's eyes were serious and full of warmth and Scorpius felt himself break apart a little as he started spinning the lie. His heart began to pound hard in his ears as if it couldn't take the strain.

It had just been a fight with some muggle boys on a rival estate, an older brother had been involved and restrained him and that's where the biggest bruises had come from. He'd provoked the fight because he had been angry at not being able to see Teddy again and at everything else. He even falteringly threw in an admission of shoplifting food to assuage his guilt over lying, but immediately regretted it at the grimace that flashed over his dad's face. He dropped his own in shame and stared at his hands, unable to look his father in the eye any longer, hating himself.

Before he knew it he was being pulled on to his dad's lap and into a hug. At least there with his head over his father's shoulder he didn't have to school his face so carefully when he heard the words 'I love you.' Hot, guilty tears were rubbed away before they could fall into his dad's shirt. But it was done now. The worst was over. And now he was sure that mysterious wizard really was friend then no one would ever find out the truth.

**A/N - I'm just writing this to let you all know that I will not be as updating as regularly as usual in the near future. :( :( :( Summer is here and this means that my weekends are being commandeered by pesky things like music festivals, holidays and social events... I know I can't complain, but weekends are when I do the majority of my writing I am v sad at having make do with scraping an hour here or there. It was a big struggle to find the time this week to get this chapter to a point where I was happy to publish it, but i sooo wanted to get it done before I go to Glastonbury this week, (as I know I'm gonna be pretty zapped creatively for a while in the weeks after...) **

**The story has come naturally to the end of what I could call part 1. I really need to spend a good amount of time planning out the future chapters and really pin down exactly what is going to happen, so I think a break will be good. Although of course I know how things will end, at the moment, I seem to change my mind day to day about the journey the characters will take to get there. If anyone has any ideas/advice about my writing or story I would love to hear them. Also any comments or (constructive) criticisms on the story so far. xxxx**


	15. Reflections

Chapter 15 - Reflections

The end of the summer found London hot, dusty and tired. Offices were half empty, the pavements and glass buildings radiated heat and the grass in the parks was sparse and brown beneath the limp, pink bodies of the city workers. The feeling amongst the populace erred towards a guilty sort of anticipation towards the autumn. It was as if they were on borrowed time. The heat couldn't last, and while of course one _couldn_'_t_ complain about such a good summer, and one just _had_ to try and enjoy it while it lasted, it was time to return to the wet and cold and the comfort that could be found in complaining about it.

Soon, those long, sultry days of limitless blue skies and hot tarmac would break, and Autumn would be upon them. The city was shrouded by a smog of it's own making. The air was thick and the pollution hung over the people like a pinkish grey blanket, trapping the heat from escaping into the atmosphere. The Londoners waited, with bitter sweet regret for the summer past, for that that first autumn chill. The first winds that would sweep down from the arctic and brush away the summer's waning grasp, bringing death but of course for humans, magical and muggle alike, new beginnings.

One family, however, was not waiting for the season's change to make their fresh start. While others waited out the dregs of the summer for the spirit of Autumn to take them, Draco Malfoy had taken matters into his own hands. And he had been surprised to find himself perfectly capable of doing so. He didn't need to see the leaves begin to brown, the air to cool, or even the date to reach September the first to take those first steps. The giddy urgency to act, to progress and move forward had overtaken him and he had embraced it wholeheartedly.

The past month had been one like no other, and both father and son were eager to leave it behind. They had been tested, challenged, had failed, and yet miraculously, been offered another chance. Scorpius, who had thought his life nearly over only a week before, had, unbeknownst to his father, been given it back by the mysterious figure who had asked nothing in return; and Draco had been handed back the reigns to his own life by two unlikely figures from his past.

It had been a horrendous experience to realise just how out of touch he had been from Scorpius, that day in the muggle cafe with Hermione Granger. Over a week later, Draco stood at the open window of their flat, head rested against the frame, gazing unseeing into the night, and ruminated at the situation as it now stood. He'd spent two years trying to be the father he'd thought Scorpius needed. Though he'd obviously been so out of his depth and off the mark it had been laughable. He'd naively thought that if he simply did the opposite to what his own father would have done in any given situation, then he'd be on the right track.

But more and more recently he'd recalled feelings in regards to his own father that he'd pushed aside years ago. In his efforts of posthumously vilifying Lucius, (though of course it started long before his death) he'd conveniently forgotten the positives of his upbringing. For it was easy to blame the man for Draco's own hatred and intolerance, and then to forget the admiration and love he'd held for him as a boy. Above all Draco knew he'd been proud of his father, rightly or wrongly, and it had been gut wrenching to realise that Scorpius must feel no pride in his own. Draco had meant every word he'd spoken to his son on that evening he'd learnt about the fight, when he'd passed down Lucius' own lessons on respect.

Granger had told Draco that Scorpius had kept things secret in order to _protect_ him from himself. Every time Draco thought of that he felt repulsed by the memories of his recent behaviour, and knew he couldn't blame his son for that decision. Though it wasn't just how Scorp thought of him that caused him most grief; his battered pride could take it - though barely, but most importantly what his ineptitude had driven Scorp to do. The muggle style fighting was bad enough, but the shoplifting was completely beyond acceptance. Draco had only think of this every time the deadly heaviness in his limbs called on him to remain in bed, and he was full of motivation again to sort things out and to become a father that his son could rely on.

Granger - Hermione. With one brief meeting she had given him that second chance, whether she was aware of it or not. No one had ever trusted Draco to be a good father before. That it should be her, after everything that she had witnessed and been on the receiving end of, all the situations he had fucked up in her presence. And she _still_ thought he should be the one to deal with his son. Scorpius had nothing to be worried about now. Granger had really _trusted_ him. Though he thought on it often, he still wasn't used to how the knowledge made him feel. The warm lightness in his chest was unfamiliar but pleasant. For the first time ever he wanted to _fulfil_ her expectations of him, because they were positive expectations, not ones of failure, prejudice or any of the other attributes he deserved. He wanted to share a room or a conversation with her and not feel like the lesser human. And for her never to view him with anything regarding pity or concern ever again.

Draco focussed on the night before him, unwilling to let his mind linger on thoughts concerning the witch. He'd be trapped for hours otherwise and he needed to focus. He'd been standing at the window a total of three out of the required twenty two and a quarter minutes. He could have used a bubble head charm to protect against the fumes currently filling his kitchen, but he'd preferred to breath real fresh air this time round. He took a deep breath then and felt the coolness catch in his throat. If he shut his eyes momentarily he could almost taste the autumn upon them.

It was fresh and calming, even with the ever present hint of chemical pollution ebbing its way upwards from the main road. Anything smelt good though compared to the smoke currently filling the flat from the large simmering pewter cauldron on the kitchen table. The smell could best be described as burning seaweed and would make you gag if inhaled too deeply. A window belonging to a neighbour to the right slammed shut and he smirked, then stared into the sky. It was a clear night, though looking west back across London he could only just make out the very brightest stars over the glowing band of orange light cast from the city.

Tonight though, the air and light pollution that so disfigured the sky didn't fill Draco with despondency as it usually did. He instead imagined the stars in front of him and allowed a feeling of calm to take him. He should be enjoying the break, as they had recently become quite hard to come by. Even small ones like this. The past week had been manic. It had started with him filling in and delivering a barrage of job applications before he'd received the long and complicated potions order he was currently working on.

He'd also been undertaking near daily excursions to his mothers house. He'd begun these with the optimistic wish for her future rehabilitation. Though after a few visits this changed to simply 'help' her, by tidying the house and making her eat, and as of two days ago when he'd last seen her: merely help her make it through the day. The days spent with Narcissa were long and exhausting and he had to desperately try and fight the feeling of futility. It helped though to remember Scorpius's own kindness in dealing with himself, and when that didn't work, the warmth in Hermione Granger's brown eyes as she reached out offering him - he just couldn't be sure.

The vapours curling outwards into the night had suddenly taken on a different quality and thankfully, brought Draco sharply back to the present. It was an even more bitter and acrid smell, if that were possible, which was the ground Doxy wing starting to combine with the milk thistle. Another fifteen minutes left. Draco shook himself, (he had ended up back to her, _again)_ and doggedly ran through the remaining steps. Once the present countdown was up and the sliced fluxweed was added, the potion only needed to be kept on the heat for another few hours before it had to rest. And then after a brief sleep of no more than five hours he would be back up to add the infusion of Hawthorn he had made earlier before a further short simmer. Then the Scutum Infirma potion would be ready.

An owl was gliding through the night towards him, illuminated in the moonlight. As it entered the square of the estate the streetlights flashed orange on its wings and Draco saw that it was the small Tawny owl he'd bought last week. He smiled, and remembered that wonderful evening he'd given Scorp the owl. It had been the day he'd received the potion order.

Draco had just picked him up from the Apparition point at the bus stop near the Potter's, (as had become their near daily routine,) and as usual Scorpius was bubbling full of stories and was, as of yet, completely unaware of the events that day that had potentially led the turning point in their fortunes. It was around seven or eight in the evening, and one of the only times in the day when Draco truly enjoyed where they lived. The west facing windows of their high story flat flooded the rooms with warm sunlight, long after the ground was in twilight. The furnishing that usually looked so shabby and cheap were imbued with a soft radiance that momentarily made one believe they were living in the height of luxury. So used to spending his life quite literally in darkness, if Draco was lucky and the sky was cloudless, moments like this helped to remind him how much his life had changed for the better. The manor he grew up in was full of shadows, the evenings of his adolescence were spent in a dungeon where the natural light was filtered green and murky by the lake and then of course his twenties were spent in the suffocating, permanent dusk of Azkaban. To exist like this in such warmth and light still felt like a privilege. He hoped it would never feel so to Scorpius, that it would be as normal as not going to bed hungry.

They arrived home, Draco's chest thudding in anticipation. He silently followed his son to his bedroom and stood in the door, watching as Scorp carelessly dropped his rucksack on the floor, and sat on his bed to take off his shoes. He continued to chat away until a quiet rustling caused the boy's head to spin round towards the window, where sat the cage that contained that small Tawny owl. Thoughts of his friends were instantly forgotten.

Scorpius stood and approached the cage with quiet apprehension, frowning into the golden sunlight. However, Draco knew it was not due to the blinding light, but recognised it as the look his son usually wore when thinking about their financial situation and so hurriedly thought of something to say. Scorp stopped moving and turned around to look with narrowed accusing eyes at his father. Draco spoke quickly before Scorp could, to ease the potential conflict, remembering the boy's recent accusation that he was 'obsessed with buying him stuff', and in particular, his anger at Draco's desire to buy him exactly what now stood before them.

"I got a job!" he blurted out. "I mean, not a proper one, though it pays well. It's a large potion order, I'll show you. Perhaps you'd like to help me." Scorpius's whole countenance changed and he looked slightly more his age.

"Really?" He said in a small voice. Draco nodded and walked to the cage.

"I met a witch today who gave me quite the advance. That is - an upfront fee. She wrote to me last night, but I didn't want to tell you until I knew for sure." _That this was for real,_ he thought. Draco unlatched the small door and reached both hands in, gently placing them over the closed wings of the owl with his thumbs meeting over its back. He carefully lifted her from her perch, and pulled her through the door minding not to catch any feathers on the side. He told Scorp to hold out his arm and placed the owl on it. Scorp giggled as her claws gripped his bare skin and she gave a soft hoot.

"It tickles!" Scorpius said, laughing. "Ow! It's digging in!"

"It's a she, and of course she's going to with you shaking like that. Calm down. She's yours and owls like to be treated with respect." Draco said, gently. Scorpius stilled immediately and gazed into the owl's black eyes as she tilted her head, observing him back.

"She's mine?" The boy asked quietly. Draco offered Scorpius a bag of owl treats and he took one without looking and offered it to the owl. He giggled again as the owl nipped his fingers as she took the pellet.

"Yes, as long as you let me borrow her from time to time." Scorp looked back at him at that and smiled shyly.

"Thank you."

"I thought it was about time we had one. Now you won't have to keep waiting for Al to owl you for you to write to him. Come on, bring her to the window. She's been in that cage all afternoon. She'll need to stretch her wings and catch some breakfast."

"Breakfast! But will she know where to come back to? Does she know this is her home? What if she just flies off and never comes back?" Draco paused on his way to the window and looked back at Scorp who had backed to the wall, his free hand cupping the owl to his chest.

"Scorp, wizard's owls aren't ordinary creatures. Look, she knows she belongs with you! I bet any old owl wouldn't let you do that to them." He explained. Scorp looked down and became aware that he had begun to squash the owl with his hand. He smiled sheepishly and eased his hold. The owl shifted it's feet and ruffled it's feathers, but didn't flap its wings or make a noise of complaint. Slowly he walked over to Draco who undid the window and opened it wide. The breeze was fresh and cool and Scorpius held out his arm, offering the owl to the setting sun. She pushed off, causing the boy to wince, but this time he didn't complain. They watched her swoop away to explore and hunt. The light that blazed across her feathers was suddenly extinguished as she dropped down lower, out of the suns range as she approached the nearby park. Draco hugged Scorpius to his side and squeezed tightly.

The adult wizard stood, watching the same view, at a different time of night and days later and felt his solitude acutely. It had only been a few days since he'd dropped Scorpius off at Potter's but already he was missing him beyond belief. Draco had been thankful every moment that the boy was not going to Hogwarts, for he could barely stand even this amount of time apart. The daily letters he'd received had helped greatly, though he had suspicions that they were partly through Potter's encouragement. The owl, whom Scorpius had named Noctowl (to Draco's ignored consternation) settled on the window sill and Draco undid the scroll around her outstretched leg.

_ Dear Father,_

_I hope your potions are going well and you aren't forgetting that the kitchen is actually a kitchen and can be used to make food in! I hope you haven't run out, though I'd be surprised if you did after all that shopping. I miss you loads and can't wait for tomorrow._

Draco smiled and stroked Noctowl as she climbed her way up to his shoulder.

_I've been really busy today. Harry took us all to the Natural History Museum! It was so so cool! The dinosaur skeletons are amazing, it makes you really think about dragons and why they're so different to everything else. Harry said something about evolushun and maybe not all of the dinosaurs got extinct. _

_ Harry said I should check it's alright with you first, but Teddy's grandmother is coming over tomorrow morning. I think I want to meet her, but Teddy told me that because of the ancient feud between her and our family then maybe I ought to be honouring that. He said it was probably some pure blood custom that we followed, but I can tell he's only half joking. He just read this over my shoulder and is now saying it was all a joke and I need to chill out. I knew it was though. He just said he wants to meet YOU again, so can you come over soon? Before term starts? His grandma is coming in the morning though, so will be gone by the time you pick me up. Unless you want to come over earlier? Harry just said that he'd already checked with Mrs Tonks and she said it was fine._

_Can't wait for tomorrow!_

_Scorpius _

Draco sighed, feeling troubled, his smile having long since faded as he read. He dropped his hand stroking the owl and summoned a quill without facing the fume clogged air. He turned the letter over and wrote his reply on the back.

_ Dear Scorpius,_

_You should be asleep, it's past midnight! The dinosaurs sound fascinating. I've read about and seen photographs of the fossils but never any in real life. Perhaps you can show me one day? Of course it's alright for you to meet your great aunt, if that's what you want. The feud Teddy mentioned occurred before even I was born, and so truly is ancient history. I've always said our family's past should never impact on your decisions, and this is especially true in relation to whether meet your extended family or not. _

_ I'll come to collect you in the evening at seven o' clock sharp. Be at the apparition point. I can't wait to see you either, I have missed you greatly._

_All my love,_

_Father_

He re-attached the scroll and let the owl go. How easy Scorpius had made it all sound. Pop over in the morning, be acquainted with the infamous blood traitor aunt, the one he'd heard his father revile over and over while growing up, while his mother listened and gained that closed off, distant expression. Draco wondered what Narcissa would say if she knew. If she'd get angry or reject Draco for allowing her grandchild contact with such people... Or if she'd just soak up the information and give no indication she'd heard, or brush it off with a tinkling laugh and a throwaway comment. It was impossible to predict with her. He was going over there tomorrow, After he dropped off the first finished batch of potions. Would he dare to try and find out? So far he'd avoided broaching any serious topics, but small talk and light entertainment had been getting her nowhere. Maybe he needed to force her into reacting to him. Shock tactics.

The thick green smoke of the Scutum Infirma potion behind him was becoming more transparent and the acrid smell was intensifying. Only a few minutes remained until the next stage was due. Draco cast a bubble head charm on himself and thankfully the smell was instantly shut off. He reluctantly left the window, walking back into the cloying warmth of the room. It was lit, rather dramatically, in candle light, as was one of the strange requirements of the brewing. With the green smoke billowing from the large cauldron illuminated by the flickering light, the scene looked as sinister as the nature of potion itself.

Draco stood over the table and swiped his hand over the cauldron, clearing the smoke to the side. The thick bubbling liquid was a deep forest green and the mistiness within was clearing rapidly as he watched. He picked up the cup containing the fluxweed that had been precisely sliced and soaked in saltwater for exactly the amount of time since he'd added the doxy wings, and held it suspended over the potion. He picked up the glass stirring rod with his left hand and waited for the exact moment the potion would turn completely clear.

He held his hands over the liquid, completely still until finally, the last hint of cloudiness vanished and he emptied the cup, and plunged in the rod. The liquid swallowed the green fluxweed and immediately a rush of warm, invisible vapour engulfed his head. He winced as the gas stung his skin slightly, though he was calm with the knowledge that his bubble head charm would hold. Though the green smoke from before was unpleasant to breath, this silent vapour was far more dangerous and would cause nightmarish hallucinations for hours if inhaled.

He stirred anti clockwise, counting down from eighty eight. He watched as the potion began to lighten and thin down. Eventually it would have the appearance of water. It was truly frightening, the potential power held by certain ingredients combined in certain ways, especially once they looked as harmless as this soon would.

The Scutum Infirma was a potion that only a few drops of which would cause the drinker to be more susceptible to Legilimancy attacks, no matter how strong their Occlumency shields. If a high dose were administered it would even cause the drinker to project their thoughts without their knowledge - though this was a dangerous tactic and may result in the attacker to become trapped within their victims thoughts if they weren't experienced enough in Occlumency themselves.

It was one of three potions that was on that unexpected order and the other two were no better. There was also the Baraniuk Potion, which was quietly bubbling away in the corner and needed to remain doing so until the new moon. This potion worked in a similar way to the Polyjuice and required a hair of the victim to activate. Once drunk, for one hour the user would be able to hear all the thoughts of the person of whom the hair belonged. The potion wasn't, as one might imagine, the most useful tool in espionage, as it required a user most talented in meditation. One had to be truly 'empty' to be able to receive and make sense of the sounds they would hear, and thus it was not as widely used as it potentially could have been.

The Draught of Deception was the third potion on the list and had been the first he'd started as it required the most amount of time to brew; a full cycle of the moon to be precise. He'd begun that very night he'd given Scorpius the owl and buoyed up on a mixture of excitement and purpose he'd foolishly attempted to involve Scorpius in the preparation. At the time he'd brushed away his moral misgivings with the view that it would benefit his son's education. And he'd hopefully assumed Scorpius' own youth and naive ignorance would protect him from learning the true purpose of the potion.

The Draught of Deception, which made the drinker seem like a friend to whomever they chose to engage with, was sold to the boy as '_a potion to help make friends._' Of course with the sharpness and uncomplicated morals of a child, questions were immediately raised to the ethics of such a thing, i.e. how? Why can't they make friends without it? What happens if they're not nice and its a trap? If the potion is in the hands of a '_bad-guy_'_?_

Of course Draco couldn't assure him that it wouldn't, as what 'good' guy would ever order such things? If Draco had had trouble explaining away that potion, then he'd have had no hope with the Scutum Infirma, and even less with the Baraniuk Potion. Trying to explain the true purpose of those potions to a child that thankfully still saw the world divided into good-guys and bad-guys was impossible. And he couldn't lie. Not after everything that had occurred between them recently. What then when Scorpius wanted to help chop or stir? Draco felt lost with most parental decisions, but letting his son become unknowingly involved in Dark magic was an obvious and clear no. And thus the letter to Harry was sent - the lesser of two evils.

Draco felt, not for the first time in the least, a sincere gratitude to Harry Potter. Unlike with Hermione, he felt no confusion any more in regards to the wizard. That Scorp was there with Potter and his sons, away from the kitchen turned potions lab was a difficult yet massive relief. For despite his reluctance to be parted from him, and eagerness to absolve himself from his recent failures, Draco knew the flat was currently no place for a child. Especially with the concentration and lack of distraction required for the current phase of brewing, not to mention the Dark nature of the potions themselves.

So, to Scorpius' delight, and with his own quiet reluctance, Draco reached out to Potter and a fun few nights holiday was arranged for his son. (Potter's words, not his) The meeting between the two wizards, when Draco dropped him off on the Potter's doorstep, had felt excruciatingly awkward. Scorpius had recently become a near daily visitor to the Potter household, but Draco had kept his distance - preferring instead to drop off and pick up from the abandoned muggle bus stop down Potter's road. The last time Draco had seen him of course, after the unmentionable day of his drugging, he'd behaved in the most melodramatic way possible. He'd _threatened _Harry's life for Merlins sake for the imagined threat to Scorpius, and here he was. He'd come crawling back, pathetically grateful, offering the same child for a few days holiday...

As usual, as with most recent interactions involving Gryffindors, Draco had been at a complete loss on how to behave, and so had returned, in relief, to the tried and tested Malfoy cool while fighting the urge to Disapparate with Scorp on the spot. It was easy to meet Harry's eyes and exchange mild verbal sparring if he was projecting the impression that leaving Scorp there wasn't one of the most difficult things he could do, and that he didn't now feel totally indebted to the other wizard. Anyhow, while grateful appreciation was fine to feel by oneself, it certainly didn't need to be overtly displayed, and especially not to Harry Potter. The man's ego was probably monstrously huge anyway without the need for extra inflation.

Remaining distant also helped mask that familiar bitter jealously, which predictably occurred while watching Potter joke and laugh with his son. Though of course it helped this time that Draco knew it was happening on his own terms. However, perhaps Potter had more sensitivity than Draco was giving him credit for. If trying to appear controlled and authoritative was Draco's way of dealing with the situation, then making light of it may have been Potters. After all, who'd want to draw any more attention back to _that_ moonlit hallway threat and all of subsequent back and forth letters of motivation and then advice? Better just to act as if nothing had happened, particularly in front of the boys, though Draco knew it was fooling no one. He appreciated Harry's tactful act of tactlessness though, regardless, but rather hoped he wasn't giving him too much credit. He was a Gryffindor, after all.

It was a surge of relief that Draco felt on receiving a reassuring smile and a tight hug goodbye from Scorp, before he ran off into the house chasing Albus. Thank Merlin his son could see through the act. He knew, Scorp knew. They would be fine.

_Semi-Dark potions, _Draco thought to himself while stirring. Well, how about bordering Dark, dipping your toes in Dark... Definitely _semi_-legal. Or maybe they even occupied that murky area around illegal and Dark, where it was all down to _intent, _as was with most interesting magic_. _He hadn't wanted to check. But if he had turned down the job, somebody else would be making them, so it may as well be him. And receiving the money had been glorious. So had brewing the potions, in fact. He hadn't been able to work on something so complex, that required such preciseness of skill in years.

'_Bad-guy._' Draco recalled Scorp's anxiously bitten lip and conflicted look as he waited for his father to answer him. Was his client a _bad guy_? Most probably based on this evidence, and he took the job anyway. Did that make him one too in Scorp's eyes? Draco refused to think about the potential victims but focussed resolutely on what the money would mean for their family. But even then it wasn't a quick or obvious decision. '_What if it's a trap?' _Scorp's concern had been for the potion drinker, but Draco was aware it could be applied to himself as well.

However, If it were entrapment, then he knew it was not aimed at himself, Draco Malfoy, specifically. For the order had been made in answer to a quiet, anonymous advertisement he had placed in the Daily Prophet two months previously. There was no evidence or hint that the "_skilled potion master_" (slight exaggeration), who was "_open minded to the potential for a wide range of potions_" (Will brew what the apothecaries in Diagon Alley won't go near,) and who inhabited a decidedly poor muggle address could possibly be the infamous Draco Malfoy. No-one but Potter, Granger and the Greengrasses knew where they lived, and most probably _they_ were far too ashamed of the address to share it around. On the other hand, one could never be too cautious.

Before the owl had a chance to escape, Draco wrote back requesting a meeting and the next day, after dropping Scorpius off at the Potter's, he found himself back at the White Hart pub in Knockturn Alley awaiting his potential client. A short while after Draco arrived, a plain sort of witch entered and Draco watched the woman carefully; waiting for a reaction once she realised who the anonymous potion maker was. However, her expression didn't change once she clocked him and she approached his table, holding out her hand to shake, as if meeting a Death Eater in Knockturn Alley was just a normal event in her working day.

Within minutes of their sitting down to business, Draco had also deduced the woman was not the real client: she had a decidedly _minion-y_ air. The witch confirmed it herself, and explained with calm professionalism that her employer was otherwise engaged elsewhere. These were all points to the clients favour, Draco decided, as sending one's subordinates to deal with what seemed to be almost routine meetings with disreputable people, seemed to point to the authenticity of the order and not at it being a set up. His uncertainty wasn't totally assuaged though until he'd demanded some kind of oath from the woman that the order was legitimate, and his brewing and delivery of the potions wouldn't put him in any sort of jeopardy. After a brief pause she agreed, and with relief Draco felt her words heavy with magic that guaranteed their authenticity.

As the discussion turned to his fee he readily employed yet another lesson from his father: how to negotiate. Though he barely had to remember those lessons; watching Scorpius barter at Borgin and Burkes earlier that month had been inspiring enough. His face and voice remained cold and imperious as he drove forward a higher rate while his mind raced in excitement at the implications such a large amount of money would mean for him and Scorp. Predictably, she conceded and they agreed on a date for delivery of the first batch. Upon parting ways the woman presented Malfoy with a further demanded advance.

He left the pub with a victorious sense of purpose and went about his business with a hint of the old pride that he hadn't felt in years. Suddenly he found he didn't care about the witches and wizards he passed as he hopped from apothecary to apothecary, spreading the purchases to avoid suspicion. The old armour that had left him for so long, was back.

Draco completed the eighty eighth stir and slowly pulled out the rod, making sure nothing dripped on to the table. He reduced the intensity of the flame and walked to the sofa, dropping down on to it heavily. He was tired and itched to remove the bubble head charm, to be able to breath freely again. He lay back, head resting against the wall and his thoughts drifted, as they had tended to do at all week while undirected, back to Hermione. He wondered what she was doing now, if Scorp had seen her at all. If she'd be interested in the potions he was brewing. At that Draco snorted and brought his hands into the bubble that surrounded his head to rub his eyes. It was time to find a book. Something long and distracting. The potion had a good few hours of simmering before he could finally call it a night...

It was ten in the morning by the time the batch of Scutum Infirma was finished. Draco divided it up between the vials and packed them into a box, charming them not to break. He checked on the other two potions and gave the flat a brief tidy. He left the windows wide open and hoped the faint smell of burnt seaweed would be gone by the time he got home with Scorp later. Spelling it away didn't seem to work.

By twelve he was back at the White Hart, though this time was informed by the barman that a private room had been requested for his meeting. He was led back to the very room where he'd first sat with Harry and the boys and left to wait. It was smaller and darker than he remembered and he idly wondered what the change in room meant. His curiosity was piqued; perhaps it meant meeting the man himself, and on hearing two approaching male voices a few minutes later he sat up straighter and arranged his expression into something that he hoped would project authority. He was hugely relieved he'd worn his best black robes for the occasion. Worn so rarely that they actually had retained some look of quality about them.

The door was pushed open by the innkeeper, and in through the frame stepped the tall, dark haired figure of - Blaise Zabini?! Draco's heart lurched and he stood abruptly, chair banging loudly against the wood panelled wall behind him. _What the fuck?! _ Blaise gave him a toothy smile, his teeth aggressively white against his deeply tanned skin. He turned to the innkeeper who still hovered by the door, looking uncertainly between the two men.

"Two firewhiskeys." Zabini's voice was unctuous yet dismissive and the man bowed his head as he left the room, shutting the door behind him. Draco waited for the steps to fade, giving himself a couple of moments to sort out his thoughts. It wasn't enough time though and he leant forward, hands balled into fists on the table. The rich scent of Blaise's aftershave assaulted him.

"What the _fuck_ is going on? Why are _you_ here? Who told you about this?" He hissed. Blaise laughed. The hollowness of it rang through the room, but he didn't stop until he'd languorously taken a seat opposite Draco and it had turned into a deep, throaty chuckle.

"There's no need to look at me like that, Malfoy." He spread his palms face up across the surface of the table and gave Draco a look of mock contrition. The corners of his mouth turned down and his eyes were widened as if he was so _terribly_ sorry for his presence. "I'm your client."

* * *

**A/N - *insert here list of excuses for lack of update for 2 months that no one really wants to hear.* If you made it to here then thank you for reading and not losing interest! And I just hope you remembered what's going on.**

** This is unrelated and I probably shouldn't be doing this - but i've waited since early July to say this (and I _know_ bragging isn't nice) but Alan Rickman gave out the awards at my graduation! I thought you guys would be the perfect audience as you'd understand how extremely, out of this world, exciting this was for me. As Rickman's Snape is totally how I imagine the character as I read. I had to go off and inhale loads of Snape fics after... And I have to say any of them that describe his smile as creepy are TOTALLY wrong! mmmmmm. &amp; mmm to his voice... If only this story wasn't true to canon in regards to him. :(**

**I'm aiming to publish at least every fortnight from now on! xxx**


	16. Confrontations

Chapter 16 - Confrontations

_"There's no need to look at me like that, Malfoy." He spread his palms face up across the surface of the table and gave Draco a look of mock contrition. The corners of his mouth turned down and his eyes were widened as if he was so terribly sorry for his presence. "I'm your client."_

There was a fraught silence as Draco struggled with what Zabini had just said. His face was a frozen mask as he stared down at the other man, numbly taking in his clownish expression. Only Draco's whitening knuckles gave away his turmoil. He saw the corners of Zabini's mouth twitch upwards almost imperceptibly, as if he was repressing a smirk. The sight of that tiny movement seemed to awaken Draco, triggering his disbelief to give rise to a hot flush of anger. He barely noticed the barman entering the room, two Firewhiskeys held on a tray. He placed the glasses on the table and Zabini leant forward in his chair. Expensive looking muggle shirt cuffs poked out of the end of his robe sleeves as he reached for the glass. A flash of gold cufflink was momentarily visible. The sight inexplicably enraged Draco further.

"To our new partnership." Zabini raised his drink and flashed another wide, toothy smile at Draco, his show of remorse abandoned. Again, neither noticed the barman slipping out of the room. Draco only continued to stare at the other wizard, unadulterated rage coursing through him, hot and desperate, as the fog in his mind cleared. He drew himself up, fighting the very real impulse to curse the disgustingly smug look off Zabini's face. His hands shook slightly as he raised them off the table. He felt ridiculous. Humiliated. An absolute, fucking idiot.

"Come on Malfoy, sit down!" Zabini cajoled.

"Where did you find my advert? I placed it months ago. What, did you recognise my address and decide to cut it out and keep it? You _twisted_ _fuck_." Draco felt his voice crack as he spoke, damaged as it was from constant fume inhalation and recent lack of use. In that moment, he couldn't care less. Zabini put his glass down and leant back into his chair, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"You got me there, Malfoy. Though, technically it _is_ my business what goes in that paper-"

"I don't give a _fuck_ about your business." Draco interrupted, his voice rising into a hoarse shout.

"No, I'm sorry. Please, we've got off to a bad start. Please, take a seat, let me explain. Calm down."

"You think this is a joke? Calm down? Our lives are just a joke to you? Deigning to hand out charity? Think you're some kind of fucking saint?" He sneered.

"Not in the slightest-"

"Then what? Enjoy kicking people when they're down, lording over them what they don't have?" A remote part of Draco recognised that he barely knew what he was saying, that he was just uncontrollably spitting words.

"Not that either, just let me explain -"

"I told you before, why don't you get it? I don't need a job from you, Zabini. I'm not one of your lackeys, and I never will be." Draco made for the door, his movements jerky with tightly wound adrenaline, his heart pounding in his ears ferociously. His thoughts were a whirl, overpowered and muddled by rage and humiliation. He _had_ to get out, he couldn't _think_. Never had he felt more of a fool. He'd been played far too easily. How the _fuck_ had he allowed this to happen? Blaise had been trying for months to get him to work for him, though he had always assumed it had been a cruel joke, made to further highlight Draco's poverty compared to his own success.

The man was a complete freak, clearly getting off on some sick, perverted power trip. And now he had what he wanted: either Draco, somehow indebted to him, or made to look like an absolute idiot for his own pleasure, or, the thought whipped through Draco's mind in a flash of lucidity: that he now had some kind of power over Draco in the form of blackmail material. _Though that woman gave a magical oath that the creation of these potions wouldn't put me in danger. What could can I even offer him anyway? And he would implicate himself with possession of Dark potions, so no, it can't be blackmail._

"Malfoy, stop being so melodramatic. We're family, stop assuming the worst. Think of Scorpius. You don't want him to end up in trouble again." Draco stopped dead, hand gripping the doorknob. His rage was suddenly extinguished by a jolt of sheer panic. He looked round at Zabini.

"What did you say?" His low voice trembled with tension. _Did he know? Did he mean- _

"Trouble- financial trouble. You don't want to end up in serious trouble again." Draco released a breath. _No, he couldn't possibly know about Scorp's muggle fighting. He'd have had no way of finding out._ Draco was suddenly thankful for the instant sobering of his emotions provided by a threat of very _real_ danger. If anyone like Zabini found out about that, (barring Potter and Granger, who appeared, Merlin knows why, to be on his side,) the speed in which he'd loose access to Scorp to the Greengrasses would be instantaneous. He took a few moments to collect himself, taking deep, yet inaudible breaths to slow his heart rate.

Draco turned away from the door and surveyed the other wizard. Zabini had barely raised so much as an eyebrow, let alone his voice at Draco's stark display of emotion, but remained loose limbed and stretched out in his chair. Draco felt the urge to curse him again as anger bubbled up once more at the sheer _arrogance _of the man. Everything about him was calculated. Every sentence, every gesture. Eyes slightly widened as if in sincerity, words inflected with just the right intonations to inspire guilt. Draco wouldn't have been surprised if he'd even gone as far as putting his hands behind his head and feet on the table, he looked that sure of himself.

In contrast Draco felt like a trapped mouse. So easily setup after all of his foolish complacency. _Fool, fool, fool. _The word stabbed at his heart, and he battled to ignore it. However true, it wouldn't help him move forward and deal with the situation. He _needed_ to stand back and be dispassionate. Despite Zabini seemingly having the subtlety of a bull, he undoubtably had the upper hand and so Draco needed all of his wit about him.

Using a huge effort of will, during those few deep breaths Draco managed to calm his mind from spasmodically lurching from one hysterical thought to the next. Ignoring his still racing heart, he forcibly removed himself from the situation and judged it. _Zabini expects me to react like this, given the right provocation at school my temper was terrible. And he knows there was nothing I hated more than being made a fool of. But though he's seen it happen countless times at Hogwarts, that was a long time ago. What does he expect of me? To thrash around like a bird in a cage, throwing insults, which, luckily is exactly what I still want to do. _

_ Why has he done this? _The question echoed round and round his head.

"You're well aware I know about your financial troubles Draco. I know you haven't received money from the Greengrasses this month, and I'm assuming you probably won't ever again. Can't say I don't blame you. Must have been awful, to be controlled by _dear_ old Apollon and Amelia like that." Draco was silent, but remained poised to leave. "I knew you'd have refused the job if you'd known it was me-"

"So instead you set up this elaborate plan, trick me into working for you. Spoon feed me this fake job, manipulate me into brewing a fuck load of useless, incredibly hazardous potions. You're a sick man. I will not be controlled by the Greengrasses, and I will not be controlled by you either." Draco barely had to pretend to inflect his voice with disgust, so true to what he was feeling. The words, imbued with so much hyperbole and shouted with so much apparent _lack_ of restraint, conversely helped to give him back a feeling of some sort of control of the situation. They were what Zabini expected to hear; and accordingly a satisfied looking smile came to his face. Draco didn't know in that moment what he could achieve by acting like this, but he knew he needed to know _why _Zabini had done it. If going along with it helped him discover this then he would. No matter how debasing.

"Who said anything about control!?" Zabini's voice oozed with amused indignation, before becoming cajoling once again. "You're offering me a service that I am in genuine need of! I didn't say anything about the potions being useless. I don't have the time to brew them myself, or clearly, the talent," he bobbed his head a little in Draco's direction.

"You can't flatter your way out of this," Draco sneered

"Sit down, Malfoy. Please, have a drink. Let's talk this through. Don't act irrationally, it isn't like you." Draco quelled the automatic, clearly irrational and childish response on his tongue of '_you don't know me,'_ and brought his still slightly shaking hand, clutching the doorknob to drag through his hair.

"The job's still here, I need the potions, you need the money. You agreed to make them, whats the problem?"

_What was the problem?_ Draco could have laughed. Putting it so plainly like that Zabini had forced him into making a definite decision and he knew it. No matter what games they both could play, the fact still remained that Draco _depended_ on the Galleons he would be receiving from Zabini. What was the point of gaining an upper hand? It was a hideous fact, but he _needed_ that money. He and Scorp couldn't continue the way they'd been going. Draco gave a minutely shuddering exhale, hyper aware that Blaise was closely watching his reactions. He felt completely drained. He had been out of this Slytherin power game for far too long. He couldn't remember the rules. He was the one who had already taken the money and he was the one who had just dedicated the past few days to single minded brewing, and lost precious time with Scorp in the process. Zabini had won before he'd even revealed his identity.

"What the fuck do you need these potions for?" He muttered, his voice gravelly and tired, apparently surrendering. _Let him think he's won, for the moment._ Blaise laughed appreciatively and picked up his glass, idly swilling the ice around so it chinked together. Draco slowly turned from the door and flicked his wand at his chair where it had fallen on the floor. It righted itself and he sat down heavily. He felt utterly wretched. He picked up his own glass and took a great swig. The amber liquid burnt his throat and he nearly coughed. For the first time in his life, he wished he were drinking the muggle version. Why complicate something that could be so calming by adding _fire_ to it? He took another long drink and then spoke again, making his voice slightly pleading. It sickened him.

"Just tell me - why? Why have you done this? Not the potions - I don't give a shit about your reasons for those, but what have you seriously got to gain by using me? I can't offer you anything. I don't have money, connections, influence. I haven't for a long time." His hands swept over the box containing the potions, "You can't honestly think I believe that these are the real reason."

Blaise tilted his head to the side as he took a drink from his glass. Draco knew with grim certainty what he was about to hear would not be near the truth, but he hoped to gain something from the answer anyway. The man's voice was smooth and melodic when he answered, and of course his reply rang predictably false.

"I'm doing it for our family, Draco. You're not the only one who has Scorpius's interests at heart. Daphne has been working herself up in complete worry over our nephew-"

"Bollocks," Draco interrupted. "Daphne doesn't give a shit about anything or anyone except for herself." Blaise smirked and gave a self depreciating sort of nod.

"True, but we have been worried, and family means a lot to me-"

"What? I am sorry, but how many men has your mother gone through? How many fathers are there between you and your siblings? Whatever warped view of family you were brought up with clearly has led you to believe some pretty twisted things about the concept, Zabini." At Draco's words, the oily smirk had finally been wiped from the other mans face and Draco felt a small, petty surge of victory. It was immature, but worth it.

"And your idea of family is hiding away your son in some grotty _muggle_ hovel." Zabini's voice was cold and his dark eyes bore into Draco's. Draco finally saw a flash of the surly boy he'd known at school, kept hidden behind the false joviality and bluster of the present. It unnerved him. "Keeping him from the rest of the world and barring his grandparents and his family contact. Refusing to allow him to even go to Hogwarts, something that should be his _right._" Draco grabbed the glass and downed the remaining liquid in one, making to rise and leave again. The spike of anger hadn't been faked.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down. I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. But you threw the first punch there." Zabini's turned to the wall and leant forward to pull on a little concealed handle. When he spoke again his unctuous, persuasive tone was back in place. "But you must understand how it all looks from the outside. Let me _help_ you. I can introduce you to others, put in a good word. Perhaps that will lead to greater things, perhaps not. Draco - I don't like to see you like this. It isn't right for the Malfoy name, for someone of your blood. For you or for your son. Where's your sense of pride?" Draco could barely keep a smirk from forming at the sheer irony of this statement, but then the door opened again and the barman was back, seemingly summoned from the pulled handle.

"Two more of the same, I presume?"

"Yes, that's all for now." Blaise snapped without looking away from Draco. The man placed two more glasses down on the table and picked up the empties. The silence was thick and he kept his eyes cast down, averted from meeting the eye of either wizard. Draco waited for him to leave before answering.

"I have pride, Zabini. Perhaps it's just the type that you don't understand." At that Blaise began to laugh again, slapping his hand on the table in an disproportionate display of mirth. This time Draco forced the smirk in place. _Let him read what he wants into that._

"Of course you do, of course. Probably even too much?" He raised his eyebrows suggestively before breaking into laughter once more and shaking his head. "I'm sorry! Malfoy, you're so bloody serious, have a drink man. Relax. Anyway, yes, of course you do, which is exactly why I didn't approach you directly with this. How many times have you rejected my job offers in the past?"

"If you think that a Malfoy would ever stoop to work in a factory, one that belongs to you, no less -" he scoffed, before being hastily interrupted.

"Yes, yes, well, that was the only thing I could offer at the time," Draco raised an eyebrow, Blaise continued, undeterred, "but things are changing, the business is really taking off. We're expanding into media, all sorts really."

"Is that anything to do with why you're wearing a muggle suit under your robes?" Draco asked, not really caring at all, while lifting his glass to his lips. He savoured the burn this time as it went down, beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol and the charm it was under spreading warmth through his stomach.

"Ah yes." Blaise grinned and rolled up the sleeves of his robes to expose the pale pink shirt. He held out his arm, examining the seams curiously. "It's a little restrictive, but Italian made, all the best things are of _course_, beautifully cut. Yes, we've been expanding in all directions. I even had a meeting this morning with a muggle-born! I really do think a hint of muggle dress makes them feel a little more, _comfortable_."

"Congratulations." Draco said dryly, unwilling to be taken in by whatever distraction Zabini wanted to give him by revealing this. He took another deep drink and sat back in his chair.

"I digress again, I apologise. Here, let's get to business." He shook his sleeves back down and reached into his robes. He drew out a cheque and held it out to Draco. "What we agreed on." There was a moment when Draco imagined himself taking out his wand and casting an Incendio on the fucking thing, but it passed and he reached out and took it, the image of a happy Scorp held furiously in his mind. Blaise grinned and held up his glass once more to toast. "Cheers. Here's to our partnership. One that I'm certain will be incredibly beneficial to us both." Draco raised his glass to his lips without barely so much of a tilt in the direction of the other man. He downed the whiskey before slamming the glass down on the table slightly harder than he'd meant to. He stood, and suddenly felt lightheaded. Sleep deprivation and a lack of breakfast were not good forerunners to two large downed whiskeys.

"The Baraniuk potion will be ready in a few days." He said impassively, while sliding the box of Scutum Infirma across the table towards the other wizard.

"Brilliant. What a nasty concoction." Blaise grinned. Draco felt more and more like he'd just made a deal with the devil.

"I really don't want to know what you're planning with these things, Zabini."

"Malfoy, where's the Slytherin I used to know? What's the harm of a little spiking here and a slight poisoning there if it keeps business progressing nicely? You've been hanging about with Gryffindors far too much for your own good."

"What do you know about that?" he asked, sharply.

"Well you haven't exactly been subtle about it. Half of Diagon Alley was talking about the day you had that run in with Potter. And of course, what with little Scorpius off to Burbage High you're bound to be seeing a lot more of Granger. I'd check the Daily Post today if I were you. Might be something of _interest_ in there about your little muggle-born..." he said, tilting his chin up to Draco and giving him a grotesque wink. Draco held his gaze for a moment, biting back his reply, and his disquiet at the insight Zabini seemed to have into his curiosity for the witch. _He's just trying to provoke me. _

Though it could just be coincidence. It _had_ to be. No way could Zabini know that much about him. After all, the Draco of the past would certainly have been interested to know about any humiliation of the witch, though for totally different reasons of course. Perhaps Blaise was trying to ingratiate himself with Draco after all. As if Granger's misfortune would impress him.

How could he know that Draco's attitude towards her had changed so fully? If he believed, as the Greengrasses did, that Draco was merely sending Scorpius to Burbage High for purely selfish reasons, then mocking jumped up mudbloods wasn't that unusual. Though why his avoidance of that word? It was almost like he was _testing _Draco, to see where his beliefs still lay. And the causal references to business with a muggle-born. What was he playing at?

Draco suddenly needed to get away. He couldn't deal with Zabini any more than he had. The constant guessing, second guessing and predicting of answers. The back and forth as they verbally sparred had exhausted him and had achieved nothing. He still knew _nothing _about Zabini's true motivations_._ The room was badly ventilated and hot, and along with his slight inebriation, the heavy smell of Zabini's aftershave was beginning to make him feel sick. Along with the sight of the man of course.

"I'll look into it. Expect an owl with the date and time for our next meeting," he simply said in reply, before opening the door and walking into the corridor, through to the entrance of the pub. He stepped outside, momentarily blinded in the sunlight after the dark, candle lit interior, and breathed deeply, blind relief that the meeting was over washing through him. The tension leaving his body made his limbs feel heavy and weak, and he was actually thankful for the sustenance from the alcohol, however artificial and temporary it was.

The conversation he'd had with Scorpius over the morality of the potions echoed in his mind. His absurdly childish, though cherished notions of good and bad. What would Scorp think if he learnt the truth? How would he feel? How convoluted and grey the reality of life was. Draco took the cheque out of the pocket in his robes and gazed down at the large amount written down. Did it really make a difference - that the client was Blaise Zabini? Money was money and he'd known all along the type of person who'd be after potions like this. All he could do for now was hope - hope that the potions were all Zabini did want. Because he knew he couldn't and _wouldn't_ offer him anything else.

Draco thought longingly of Scorpius and then home, but instead set them and with great effort, his conversation with Zabini aside and span into the Apparition thinking resolutely, yet apprehensively of Narcissa.

Draco found his mother that afternoon wrapped up in bed, and driven within herself by her own demons. The dusty, hot twilight of the room was suffocating, yet Narcissa lay on her side swaddled in thick bedding, completely still and wan. Draco's breath caught as he reached out to lay a hand on the delicate skin of her neck, and then released again as she stirred under his touch.

"Mother?" he said, his damaged voice husky in its attempt to be soft. It had been a couple of days since he'd last been over, focussed as he had been on those fucking potions. _Surely_ not enough time for her to slip so badly? Draco moved his hand from her neck to rest on her hands, blue veined and thin, bunched up on the pillow in front of her face. He knelt by the bed, his weary body thankful for the rest, and spoke her name again. This time her eyelids fluttered open and she seemed to meet his gaze as if from a great distance.

"Draco -" her voice was frail and weak, like the last rays of a winter sun. "Draco, please, not today." She frowned and made a movement as if to take her hands away from his, but his hold was firm.

"Mother, please, I've brought you some breakfast." He spoke slowly and calmly.

"No, no, I'm not hungry today." She shut her eyes and tugged her hands once more and Draco felt a wave of concern and regret. He'd never seen her _this _bad before. She was usually capricious but always pleased to see him.

Suddenly a wave of crushing self awareness came over Draco at that point and he released her hands abruptly for her to draw them slowly under the duvet. Draco _had_ been here before - but of course, he'd been the one debilitated and shrunken and Scorp had been where he crouched now. He floundered, feeling helpless and guilty, the plate of toast lying uselessly to his side. How could he have put his son through this? This _sickness. _

"Mother, I would really like you to sit up. I've brought some food, and I want you to try and eat." He strained his voice to convey confidence. A tear slipped from Narcissa's closed eyes and ran down across her cheek, filling the wrinkles in her skin like floodwater on parched earth. Draco felt himself cracking.

"Please Draco, I don't want you to see me like this. It's not right for you -"

"What do you mean it's not right? Why can't I look after you?" Narcissa flinched slightly and opened her eyes wide and stared up at him. He had to fight to hold her gaze.

"You shouldn't have to see me like this. It's not right... While i'm so - _reduced. _If Lucius was here -"

Draco couldn't stand it any longer and looked away from those pale, dolorous eyes, focusing on the wall above the bed. He couldn't have this conversation about his father _again, _not after his morning_._

"Please Mother," he said uselessly.

"What would he think Draco? What would he think of me? What I've become?"

"Mother-" She gave a dry, brittle sounding cough and Draco focussed back on her in alarm. Her features were set in twisted grimace.

"I'm pathetic, talking like this. What would Lucius say?" She was muttering, turning away from Draco as if he wasn't there. "What would my parents think? I'm a disgrace to our family. It wasn't meant to be like this-"

"Disgrace?" His voice wavered. "_You're _a disgrace?" Suddenly he felt his mind snap under all of the suppressed emotion from the last hour. It came back to him in a rush; all of his concern mixed with a aching desperation for things to be okay, worry and doubt over his actions, and _anger, _of course over Zabini, but mostly at himself; for letting this happen and for being completely helpless to stop it. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back round to face him. She whimpered but he didn't remove his hand. His fingers bit into her delicate skin, as if he didn't realise how much pressure he was exerting. "Mother! Our _family, _is just you, me and Scorp. There's no one left to disgrace."

"Draco, please let me go! You don't understand-"

"Of course I fucking understand. I understand far too well," he growled.

"No, you don't-" she was cringing away from him, hands clawed over her face in an attempt to shield herself. "Please leave me alone," the self disgust so painfully obvious in her voice nearly made him rear away. _Never _had he heard his mother revile herself so acutely. It was all he could do not to shake her until she woke up and just _realised_ she wasn't alone in suffering with this. That the boundaries they'd crossed were impossible to put back, but it didn't _matter_ to him. A realisation came to him suddenly and he understood.

_ "_It's the muggle pills isn't it! You've taken them - while I was away. And now you're like this! Where are they?" It was only the broken state of his throat that stopped his voice rising to a shout. Draco had been searching for that medicine box all week, but it had vanished into thin air. He hadn't dared ask her outright about them, not wanting to drive her away from him. Though apparently that was just another mistake to add to the list. Narcissa was shaking her head uselessly, eyes squeezed shut behind her hands. "Mother, where are the pills? Tell me! You can't take them! They'll damage you, damage your magic!" Both of his hands were gripping her shoulders and she cried out.

"Draco, I haven't! You're hurting me!" At this he withdrew his hands as if burnt and stood, backing away from her towards the wall. He leant against it and brought up his shaking hands, pressing his palms against his closed eyes, a headache beginning to throb behind his forehead. He felt utterly frustrated. How could he have left her for so long? When he knew the drugs were in the house? He took a steadying breath, let his hands drop away and looked back over to the bed. Narcissa had wrapped herself up even more tightly and had turned with her back to him. Her absurdly tiny frame was shaking slightly and at that sight the rest of his anger, so quick to rise up, withered just as fast with a dull stab of guilt.

Draco walked across the room, and cautiously approached the bed from the other side. He sat down, but his hand hovered uncertainly over her form, and he dropped it back down to his knee. He made no attempt to touch his mother again.

"I'm sorry," he croaked. The air was heavy with his silent remorse. He tried again - "I'm sorry - I'm sorry I'm not enough."

He stood up and walked back to the plate of toast. He cast a preserving spell and laid it gently on the bedside table next to the charmed cup of tea. He gave his mother one last, searching look and walked from the room, body stooped as if his very thoughts had physical weight and he wore them on his shoulders. His head swam as the pain grew behind his eyes and he leant heavily on the wall in the hall. _What the fuck is this day? How am I meant to do what's best for her, for Scorpius? If all I've got to work with is Blaise fucking Zabini. How can I help her? Nothing I'm doing has worked, and in fact she's getting worse. _

Draco shut the door to his mother's room and pessimistically cast a few varying Accios. As expected no pill bottles, empty or full flew towards him. His mother may be mentally unwell, but she still seemed to be able to command the type of magic needed to keep the necessary things hidden and secret. He returned downstairs and slowly began to organise the food he'd set aside for their lunch that afternoon, mind moving at speed.

Thoughts about his mother soon returned to the meeting with Blaise. He cursed himself again for his idiocy, and as he thought about what he said and how he reacted he experienced a fresh wave of shame and humiliation. The supercilious way Zabini had looked at him as if _he _held power over Draco still caused his heartbeat to increase, even well over an hour later. He repeated Zabini's words over and over in his mind, trying to remember what he could about his intonations and expressions. If he could learn anything new, anything at all... But it was hopeless.

_Why _hadn't he insisted to know the identity of the client off that witch last week? _Why _hadn't he insisted on a more thorough oath to ensure he wouldn't get set up. And over and over the question surfaced, _why _had Zabini done this? It _couldn't _truthfully be that Zabini wanted to help him and Scorp? Could it? It would be easier just to believe that he was doing it all just to implicate Draco in a crime, to get Scorp returned to his grandparents. In that case Draco could just cease contact, cut his losses and bin the rest of the potions. But that woman's oath negated this motivation. _And I need that money so, so badly._

Draco finished preparing the food and sank down on to a chair by the kitchen table and began to rub absentmindedly on the burn mark his mother had made with the cigarette a couple of weeks previously, regret coursing through him. He was slipping, sliding back into despair. _I can't help my mother, I'm out of my depth, I can't do the right thing. I can't do anything right, always making the wrong choice. I'm not a good father, I nearly encouraged my child to be involved in Dark magic, what the fuck is wrong with me? _No wonder his mother had taken more of those drugs. When they provided such an beautiful escape from the tangle of thoughts and mess of their lives.

_Fuck. What am i thinking? _Draco lifted his head off the table where he'd lain it without realising and slapped his hands down hard on the wood. He centred his thoughts on the stinging sensation which gradually waned to a sharp prickling under the skin of his palms. He focussed on the ebbing and building dull throb of his headache.

A cool band of light shone through a gap in the shutters, lighting the room just enough for him to make out a patch of grey mildew in one of the corners of the ceiling. He was still and listened; in the distance he could hear a crow cawing. Its mate joined in. He breathed in through his nose, air filling his lungs. The kitchen smelt musty and damp, with a slight sweet hint of decay. _Careful, careful. _He took a few more deep breaths in and out and felt himself start to calm.

He thought back to the long letters Potter sent him the week before. The words came to him easily. _Recognise that your thoughts are just that - thoughts. Acknowledge you are having them but realise they don't mean anything, they are not real. Accept that you control them, they don't control you. _Control. Draco couldn't control anything to do with Zabini or his mother, but he had volition over himself. He'd been doing it externally for as long as he could remember. However, internal control of one's thoughts was something he'd only thought of as either beneficial when against an enemy like Blaise Zabini, meaning better performance in the heat of the moment, or during Occlumency. But Potter had introduced him to a different concept: to give oneself power over one's own mind, for one's _own _sake.

He didn't need to think like this, he _wouldn't_ give Zabini influence over his mind. He wouldn't lead himself down into those dark thoughts again. He'd promised Scorpius he wouldn't, and for fucks sake, he was going to keep that promise. Draco felt his spirits lift slightly for the first time since that morning. He couldn't do anything about Zabini right now so he wouldn't think about it any longer. He'd done all he could to help Narcissa today. He needed to let her do the rest herself.

He would go to Potter's now and pick up Scorpius. Draco felt warmth bloom in his chest at the thought of reuniting with his son and it drove away any lingering despair. It was still a good few hours before he was due, but what did that matter? Perhaps he'd even talk to Potter. The thought of clear, to the point, Gryffindor conversation was incredibly appealing after the rigmarole of that meeting with Zabini. And he had never _truly_ thanked Potter for his help with caring for Scorp and for sending all of those letters. That was something he felt able to do now, _and_ there was also that warding project he'd promised to help with. Maybe Granger would also be there? His heart seemed to skip a beat and he stood suddenly, reminding himself again of the necessity of stopping thoughts like that running away with themselves.

He strode towards the shutters and banged them open, causing weak, ivy filtered sunlight to fill the dank room. Well, it was better than nothing. He began to cast a series of strong preserving charms on the food for when his mother was ready to eat. He would come back tomorrow, and perhaps things would be better then. He nodded once and thinking forcefully of that shady Hampstead bus stop, Disapparated.


	17. Deciphering the Signs

**A/N **Thank you to my lovely followers for your reviews! The relaxation technique I had Draco practising at the end of the last chapter was something recommended to me by a work colleague after i had a run in with my boss that I couldn't stop obsessing about, even days after it happened. This way of thinking is called Mindfulness and i recommend you look it up if you find yourself becoming trapped by the same negative, pointless thoughts over and over, like I do on occasion, and Draco does in this story :) I warn you, this chapter is very long, but I couldn't find a good place to split it into two! Sorry about that. Please review if you have any thoughts!

Chapter 17 - Deciphering the signs

The grey pencil skirt was badly creased and tighter than she remembered it looking in the mirror. Her hair was engorged with humidity and a few strands seemed to be stuck unnoticed in the corner of her mouth. Hermione gasped as her face turned, unseeing towards the camera. She looked red and shiny, haggard, _old._ When had the bags beneath her eyes and creases between her eyebrows become so ingrained and deep? Hermione brought trembling fingers up to her face and gently patted the skin under her eyes, thinking about 30 years of staying up late to read, first by torchlight, later by Lumos. All those missed hours of sleep; all those added hours from the Time-Turner...

Suddenly Hermione reared back from the paper and let out a small moan. The photograph of her had gesticulated and raised an arm in slow motion, (a relatively new development in charmed photography no doubt invented by some enterprising young muggle born,) revealing, to her complete horror, _a sweat patch_. Hermione watched in dismay as she fell victim to another spiteful decision of the photo editor: a superimposed, throbbing red circle had appeared around the sweat patch, grotesquely drawing the eye to it, and moving as Hermione moved. Eventually, after far too long, the photo returned to normal speed, the arm dropped and the circle vanished. Hermione released an unconsciously held breath.

The photograph continued to repeat the movements on a loop and the witch sat at her kitchen table in a trance, deaf to the mews to her ancient ginger half-Kneazle, watching the photo's progression with morbid fascination.

Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her leg as a set of claws broke through her pyjama bottoms and she winced, brushing Crookshanks away with her hand. She wrenched her eyes away from the photo and read the accompanying headline.

_** GRANGER FINALLY LOSING IT **_

Phrases jumped out at her as she scanned the article. "_Friends are worried... the stress finally showing... addicted to work... cracking under pressure... still single... evidence of weight gain as she turns to food for comfort..." _

Suddenly the large, squashed face of Crookshanks loomed over the article and began butting his forehead into her cheek. Hermione sighed shakily and buried herself thankfully in his fur, wrapping her arms tightly around his large, warm body. He stood still on the table, stoically bearing this human need for comfort as only an old, patient cat would, and didn't move until she'd drawn her face back out of his fur. She could feel and hear deep rumbling vibrations as he began to purr as she stroked him.

"Sometimes I wish I were a cat, Crooks," she whispered. He turned his large, orange eyes on her reproachfully and blinked. "Why do they hate me so much? Why have the papers turned on me this badly? I don't understand what I've done _wrong_."

Hermione imagined Crookshank's reply in her head, and as it always was when he gave her sage advice he had the deep, rolling voice of Aslan, The Great Lion. _By being Muggleborn, young, female and continuing to break their assumptions on what that should mean, my sweet Hermione._

_ "_And I _know _I shouldn't care... I mean, it's the same old stuff, every single time, but... It's just - horrible." She hunched her shoulders and Crookshanks dragged the side of his face firmly along her hand. "It's humiliating," she said on a low breath.

Hermione shook her head and abandoned her cat to pick up the short note Orla Quirke had sent along with the paper, off the floor where it had fallen earlier.

_Thought you should see this, I am sorry Hermione. I really am. Please don't let it ruin your weekend, the article is the same old unoriginal garbage, no actual substance to it. Now I'm thinking about it, I don't think I've ever seen you visibly sweat - I'm going to look into the possibility the image was doctored. _

_Keep your head up, they are all morons. See you Monday._

_Orla _

Hermione felt affection surge for Orla and her pragmatism. Chastising herself for that moment of weakness, she shooed Crookshanks off the newspaper where he'd appeared to be settling down and neatly ripped out the offending page, only letting her gaze slide across it briefly, as if it were some dark, corrupting piece of magic she'd accidentally come across in an old book. She grimaced again as she caught a glimpse of the red circle, but quickly folded the paper into quarters and reached for a notebook and pen that were balanced on the top of a large pile of folders to her left.

_ Harry,_

_Look what they've written this time! Is that the best they can do? Orla thinks that the_

Hermione's pen paused, poised over the page. She winced and bit her lip before forcing herself to continue with the words. This was _Harry, _he wouldn't judge her. And with all the media lawsuits he'd been through he may be able to help.

_sweat patch may have been edited in. I believe muggles practice this in their photograph technology and it's possible that wizards have started to do the same. Do you think this is legal? I know it's not a big deal, but do they have the right to do this? The articles and photos just keep coming, this is the third of it's kind this week!_

Hermione paused again, wanting to tell him more. But she didn't want to worry him though. She was fine, really! The article had barely affected her, for Gods sake! She shook her head, added a few more exclamation marks so he would get how unbothered she was by this, and scribbled down the last part.

_Hope you're having a good day! Send my love to the boys._

_Lots of love, Hermione xx_

Hermione folded the letter around the article and walked wearily to the utility room attached the the back of the house where Callisto was resting in her cage behind a curtain. She drew back the fabric, offering soft apologies for waking the owl in the middle of the day and opened up the cage door. Callisto gave her a long look before shuffling her way out and hopping on to Hermione's arm. She snatched on to a corner of the offered letter with one taloned foot and launched herself out of the open back door and into the warm afternoon.

Hermione watched her go, unease mixing with relief that the article was out of the house. If she'd just looked at it _one_ more time... But too late now, and of _course_ it was for the best. She made her way slowly upstairs and decided a bath would cheer her up. With lots of lovely bubbles and music.

While it was running Hermione returned to her bedroom to undress. She passed the full length mirror next to her dresser and paused, and then after a moment, stepped into view, holding her breath. Hermione didn't own a set of scales, and she had thought her clothes all fit, but could the article be right? _Have I gained weight?_ She attempted to look objectively at the reflection of her naked body, approaching it as if it were an academic problem, starting with a comprehensive view of the whole article, before surgical examinations of the smaller parts. She stood tall with her shoulders back and her stomach held in, muscles tense under the rigorous scrutiny of her gaze.

She concluded that she didn't _seem _any bigger. It _must _have just been an unflattering photo. She relaxed and her posture slumped. She frowned at the sight, and then, telling herself of the benefits of empirical evidence over purely logical, bent forwards at her hips and grabbed the rolls that then formed around her middle. She grimaced. _Is that just skin? Have those always been there?_ She straightened up and turned around to look at her bum. _God this daylight's harsh. Everybody's got cellulite in bad lighting, haven't they?_ Hermione swore under her breath at the environmental impact on her examination and ran to the bathroom, just stopping at the CD player to press play as she passed.

She turned off the taps and stepped gingerly into the steaming, deeply filled bath. The temperature was _just_ on the comfortable side of boiling and she relished the slight stinging as she sunk down into the lavender scented bubbles. She picked up her wand from the side and cast a cushioning charm on the ceramic where her head would rest, and then lay back and tried to relax. Nina Simone's voice floated out of the bedroom on a backdrop of tinkling piano and harp and Hermione tried to focus on the words and the smell and sensation of the water on her skin. She _refused_ to indulge in all the feelings that article had stirred up.

"_Here comes the sun little darlin', _

_Here comes the sun, _

_I say, It's all right, it's all right." _

But was she all right? Was she 'losing it'?

"_Little darlin' its been_

_A long cold and lonely winter_

_Little darlin' it feels like_

_Years since you've been here"_

Oh god, it really had been _years. _Hermione felt herself suddenly overcome by a desire to feel another body, to touch skin against her skin. To be held and hold someone in turn. How long had it been? Well, thanks to Witch Weekly and the article they published earlier that week on her lack of dating history, she could say it had been exactly three years and four months since she'd last had sex and four years and two months since her last relationship, and even _that_ could only be labeled as a relationship loosely. She hugged herself in the water, feeling overcome by loneliness. It wasn't as if she had _chosen _it to be like this, as the papers kept saying. It had just happened. And while she pretended things were okay, to Harry, to Ginny, even to herself, they _weren't._ She was completely _alone_.

The song ended and Hermione suddenly came to herself, horrified by where her thinking had led her. _Stop it! When did I become such a cliché! Wallowing in self pity is not permitted! That's what they want me to do. I'm _not_ alone, I have loving friends, a loving family, _she admonished herself crossly.

Hermione sat up, something wasn't right. _The lighting. _She stood suddenly, the water cascading down her body and splashing over the edge of the bath as she stepped out and into the the chill of the outside world. She walked briskly to the CD player and turned it off. _Enough of that._

She saw the phone then and took it back to the bathroom with her. She lit a few of the expensive scented candles she'd bought a few months ago from one of the fancy apothecaries in Diagon Alley and never used, and placed them strategically around the bath. She switched off the electric light and nodded in satisfaction at the effect. _Though wouldn't it be nice to be sharing this with someone else?_ Said a cruel voice in her head. An stubborn remanent of the dark poison from the article.

Hermione did her best to ignore it and got back into the water and sunk down. She picked up the phone and swung it between her fingers over the water, wondering if she dare call them. In the silence of the room, with only her melancholy and the gentle splashing of her arms for company, Hermione's heart suddenly yearned for her parents, and as if the logical part of her mind had been disabled, she began to type in a number and held the phone tentatively to her ear. Her mother's voice answered on the fifth ring and Hermione felt her heart leap and her throat seize up at the sound.

"Hello? Hello, is anybody there?"

Hermione found her voice just in time. "Mum? Mum, it's me." There was a pause.

"Hermione? Hello, darling, so good of you to phone!" Guilt hit Hermione hard. Ten seconds into the conversation, a new record. Was she imagining the slight accusation in her mother's tone?

"I'm sorry - I'm sorry it's been so long," she whispered, not trusting her voice not to break.

"Don't worry darling, we know how busy you are." There is was again, that hint of accusation. She hadn't imagined it. God, this had been a mistake. Only her mum could make her feel like this. Hermione heard her pull away from the phone at this point and shout to her father.

"Love, it's Hermione! Yes, she remembered!" Hermione winced, _remembered what?_

"Dad wants a word sweetheart. I've really got to run, I was just about to pop out when you called."

"Mum? I miss you." There was a long pause and Hermione could hear a deep sigh. Her mother's voice sounded weary and tired when she replied.

"I miss you too, love. Right, here's Dad. Talk soon?"

"Yeah, of course." Hermione felt her throat constrict painfully again and then her dad's warm voice was talking down the line.

"Hello love, thanks so much for calling! How are you?" Pressure was building behind her eyes and in her nose, a horrible physical prickling that was hard to ignore.

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Are you sure?" His voice was so kind, so lacking in any ulterior meaning that Hermione cracked and lost the struggle against the lump in her throat and the tears enveloping her eyes. She blinked and they spilled down her cheeks.

"I'm sure." She desperately hoped he couldn't hear the strain in her voice. "How are _you?"_

_ "_I'm doing a lot better thanks. The operation went really well, I'm up and out of bed today, feeling a bit weak but a lot better." Guilt immediately rolled back over Hermione in forceful waves. She held the phone away from her ear, away from her father's voice, and lay back to submerge herself under the water. _Fuck fuck fuck. _She wracked her brains for mention of an operation, any memory of a conversation about an illness, but came up short. Had she forgotten? _Am I losing it?_

She opened her eyes under the water and stared through the haze of her billowing hair. The candle light that was designed to be soft and enchanting, shone yellow and garish through the thick, static shapes of frothy bubbles, casting distorted shadows on her body like the ones made by clouds over hills seen far away in the distance. The pale, murky, rolling landscape of her nakedness seemed to taunt her and she hated herself then, in a real way. The way the author of the article had hoped to achieve, but the way in which you can only bring about yourself.

Finally, as her lungs started to ache she pulled herself out of the water and held the phone to her ear as if it would burn, simultaneously dreading, and desperately hoping he was still there.

"Hermione? Hermione? Are you there?" She cleared her throat and roughly rubbed the soapy water out of her stinging eyes.

"Sorry Dad, I think the reception just went."

"Can you hear me now?"

"Yes. I'm so glad it went well!"

Hermione sat and listened to her father talk and felt more alone and awful than ever before.

* * *

The worries and frustrations born from Draco's morning, while not fully forgotten, were at least pushed to the back of his mind when he found Scorpius's trainers kicked to the side of the very much _open _front door of Harry Potter. Happy excitement warred with exasperation at the sight. _This_ was the security of the famous, Man Who Wouldn't Die? Draco shook his head in disbelief, rang the bell, stepped through the threshold and after waiting in vain in the hallway for someone to appear, followed the sound of music into the kitchen in search for his son.

The large, airy room was filled with warm afternoon light and evidence of recent use. A glass sat on the granite work surface half filled with pumpkin juice. A few brooms and a quaffle lay abandoned by the open back door. A great mess of coloured pencils and a stack of paper were in the centre of the big wooden table, the chairs pushed out at odd angles as if abandoned in a rush.

Draco walked over and picked up one of the drawings, recognising Scorp's style at once. It was of Noctowl in a tree but naturally, she had purple and blue flames interspersed within her feathers. He inhaled sharply as the owl opened its wings and flapped off the branch and across the page, trailing sparks. Draco shook his head, feeling absurdly charmed by Potter's enchantment.

A new song started and Draco glanced up towards the door from which it came. Whoever was listening turned it up louder and the base throbbed heavily and irregularly through the wall. Draco hesitated, it was _definitely _muggle music; he couldn't even begin to name some of those instruments. He knew then who he'd find on the other side and with a slight building of nerves approached the door.

He hesitated, feeling strangely as if he were at a crossroads, but he dismissed the feeling as overly sentimental, silently pushed it open and found Potter bent over a desk at the other end of a small, narrow, messy study. The deep green painted walls were clad in bookshelves and Draco glanced at a few of the titles, impressed despite himself.

Potter hadn't looked up, he was so engrossed in what he was doing. Draco couldn't understand how he could hold that level of concentration with the pounding music, but apparently, it barely affected him. He had his wand out and was glaring at a large lump of grey quartz with a frown, occasionally tapping it and mouthing words, causing runes to flash and run across the surface. His hair stood up wildly as if hands had been repeatedly run through it, and he was wearing his round framed glasses once again. If Draco really looked he could just make out the faded lightning bolt scar.

Suddenly Draco felt a great homely nostalgia well up within him and grinned, mind racing through possible insults he could throw at the man. But he shook his head and still smiling like an idiot turned to one of the bookshelves and decided to peruse the titles while he composed himself or until Potter noticed him. Both took a while.

"Malfoy!" Draco rolled his eyes and turned back to face the desk. To his relief the music came to a stop and Potter had straightened up and was midway through dropping his wand to his side. He looked surprised, but Draco was relieved to see, not in a bad way.

"Potter." He nodded at the other man, trying not to break into that ridiculous smile again. "How are the boys? Was Scorpius well behaved?"

"It's good to see you! And of course he was. They're upstairs in Al's room and I have to apologise - I tried to encourage other forms of entertainment, but Scorp's become rather taken with Al's Playstation." Draco frowned. "Shooting aliens or blowing up Nazis or some such enemy. It's a game, on a sort of computer." Harry went on, holding out his fists and wiggled his thumbs up and down in some sort of strange mime.

Draco shook his head slightly in incomprehension. "Right. Good. You know your security leaves much to be desired. I just walked in here, your door wasn't even locked." He raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you don't have rabid fans and desperate journalists on a slow news day throwing themselves at your feet as we speak." His potion fume damaged voice broke towards the end, slightly ruining the effect.

Potter grinned and leant back against the wall. "You think _anyone_ could just walk in here? You _don't_ want to see what would happen to someone who tried to enter without my permission. My wards can recognise a friend, Malfoy." Draco squirmed inside, more over Potter's use of _that_ word than the implied threat but he was careful not to show it. Just before he looked away out of awkwardness, he caught Harry's smile.

"I - I never thanked you, by the way," he croaked out without thinking and then immediately clamped down on his tongue, cursing himself. It had been as if that dreaded word, _friend, _had been a wandless compulsion charm to blurt out whatever was on his mind. And _Merlin_, he sounded awkward. He wrenched his eyes off the floor and back at Potter who was watching him with a slight frown. There was a silence that thankfully, he didn't try to fill with a joke or a flippant comment, seeming content to let Draco collect himself for a moment.

Draco felt his heart begin to pound heavily as he furiously tried to think about how to recover from this. Or now he'd started it, how to actually verbalise his gratitude. _Why_ had he just launched into this without planning? But then how could you plan something that you'd never actually done before? Well, not for a very long time. When had anyone actually done so much for him as selflessly as Potter had, apart from his Mother or Astoria? The concept was so un-Slytherin it was no surprise he hadn't encountered it much before.

He held Harry's clear green gaze, cleared his throat, praying his voice didn't sound as hoarse again and forced out the words, internally wincing at their blunt sincerity. _Remember, this is a million times better than talking to Zabini. This is what you want. He deserves this much after all he's done for Scorp._

"Thank you for sending me those letters after - after what happened. And thank you for looking after Scorpius. Over the last few days of course, but also, _then_." Draco felt his throat close up then and knew it was all he could manage. He hoped Potter knew to when he was referring. And he wasn't going to _apologise_ for anything, that was for sure. As Draco began to wish the floor would swallow him as he waited for a reply, the other wizard saved him by merely nodding, his face clear and without a hint of judgement or amusement.

"Well," Harry drew the word out slowly, "In exchange for my help -" Draco relaxed, back on familiar ground, "are you still interested in giving some advice over this warding I was telling you about last time?" He beckoned Draco over and gestured towards the quartz. "You actually came at the perfect time. I'm _sure_ one of these runes is wrong, it's not behaving exactly as it should, but I can't work out which." Draco nodded, hugely relieved that Potter hadn't wanted to actually _talk _about his problems, and that he could actually offer him something in return. He eagerly approached the desk to examine Harry's calculations, feeling lighter than air.

* * *

Draco barely had acknowledged to himself the strangeness of standing next to Harry Potter, discussing Ancient Runes before he was completely engrossed and beyond the point of making such detached observations. It had to take him a few moments to adjust to a Potter that while wasn't always that articulate, actually made _somewhat_ coherent, intelligent arguments and as they spoke, he actually found himself becoming genuinely interested in the project, (despite his dubiousness over it's potential for commercial success.)

Maybe it was due to Draco's relief at the prospect of being out of the other's debt, but he didn't mind when Harry took a while to understand things, or even when his own explanations were interrupted by questions or comments. It felt oddly natural, not unlike when he gave Scorpius lessons. One such interruption however, completely threw him.

"I think if you cast those in this order, the Eihwaz the Lagaz, the Isa, and then the Hagalaz, holding in your mind _exactly_ what you want each to do and to whom, it _may_ work. It's one of the biggest advantages Ancient Runes have as a method to wield magic over spells where you need exact wand movements and perfectly pronounced latin incantations." By this point, Draco was leaning against a bookshelf to the side of Harry's desk as he spoke, arms pinned behind him, but then he stood upright to free his hands, bringing them up in sweeping motions to illustrate his words.

"There are so many meanings attributed to each Rune that the magic is a lot more fluid. Intent and desire are far more powerful, the meanings of the runes just provide a rough guide. There's no arbitrary distinctions like Light and Dark between them, because they were developed before modern wizards decided there needed to be a division. It's far more honest. _And_ we're just using the Elder Futhark Runes here, there were many other ancient cultures that have their own completely different Runes and ways of casting."

A strange smile had replaced the look of interest Harry had been wearing and Draco trailed off, frowning. "What's funny?" he asked, feeling suddenly defensive. He found himself suddenly aware of how he had just been waxing lyrical on a subject close to his heart in the study of his one time enemy. But then his plummet back to earth was ricocheted back off to the side by Harry's next comment.

"Nothing! I didn't want you to stop! It's really interesting. It's just, you sound a _lot_ like Hermione. Although she would never describe the difference between Light and Dark as arbitrary_._" Draco blinked, stunned. "Speak of the devil!"

"What?"Draco asked, dazedly.

"Sorry, muggle saying," Harry replied carelessly. There was suddenly a lot of noise at the window on the other side of the desk and Draco looked up to see Hermione Granger's owl clattering it's way in.

"Hey Callisto, what have you got there?" Harry stood up and made his way over. The owl hopped off the window sill, settled on Harry's arm and dropped a small folded piece of lined muggle paper into his hand. "Come on, I've got some treats in the kitchen. Do you want a drink Malfoy? I could definitely use one after that." Harry gave him another smile, this one big and guileless and turned towards the door.

Draco followed, still feeling slightly wrong footed by the comment, and even to his surprise, disappointed the conversation was over. As they walked from the study to the kitchen, Harry unfolded the letter, a frown forming as he began to read.

"Shit," Harry muttered under his breath. He unfolded a second piece of paper, what looked to be a torn out page from a newspaper, and the frown turned into a grimace as his eyes scanned the page. "Fuck." he said, louder. Draco sat down at the table, hands tensing into fists. His mind immediately jumped to what Zabini had mentioned about Hermione and The Daily Post. _Could this be it?_

Harry glanced up from the letter, biting his bottom lip and met Draco's eyes. There was a split second where Draco was sure Harry was deciding something about him, and then he said, "This is from Hermione. There's been more negative press about her." He shook his head and still holding the pages walked to a cabinet and got out two mugs. He began to make them both tea and Draco sat feeling impotent, desperate for some reason for Harry to tell him more, but not really sure whether their strange new relationship was developed enough for him to ask for it.

"What does it say?" he finally prompted, trying to sound uninterested. In truth, he couldn't bear to sit in ignorant silence any longer.

"Oh, the same old sensationalised rubbish," Harry said, with frustrating vagueness, waving the paper in the air. "The newspapers have been relentless this summer with their articles and pictures. They're picking up on _anything_ she does wrong, picking apart anything in her past that they think is a weakness." He brought the mugs over and handed one to Draco and took a seat opposite. "It's almost like - well, never mind."

In lack of forthcoming information from Harry, Draco's mind returned to what Zabini had said earlier and without paying attention took a sip on his tea and burnt his tongue. He let out a hiss of pain, but Harry didn't notice, all his attention was held on the hand written note, as if he were trying to decrypt Runes once again. He began to mutter to himself and Draco leant slightly forwards, straining to hear.

"Too many exclamation marks, that's usually a really bad sign. Shit, I bet she's actually really upset about this. I bet she's trying to pretend it doesn't bother her, since it's not about Burbage directly... Oh God, I hope she hasn't tried to ring her parents like this..."

Draco felt a pang of concern rise up within him at Harry's words and tried again to see the newspaper article in his hands. _What could upset her?_ _I thought she was infallible, especially to any rubbish from the press. _Draco thought of her, as he had done many times since, as she'd been in Diagon Alley and at the cafe. Confident, self assured, in control, angry at points_, _but admirably so_. _He found it difficult correlate that witch to the one Harry was talking about.

Just as he was able to make out what looked like a large red circle appear on the page, Harry said, "Right that's it, I need to Floo call her," and had folded the letter back up. Draco leant back in his chair. "I won't be long, you'll be fine?" Harry asked, standing up and walking towards the living room door.

Draco rolled his eyes and tried to sound bored when he answered. He was in fact nursing a small knot of worry about the witch, which had grown a bigger with each passing second Harry's frown seemed to deepen. But he was also very aware of how that would come across if he showed it.

And why _should_ he be this concerned about Granger anyway? It was probably more Zabini's comments that were putting him so on edge. _What did he want me to see? Probably just thought whatever filth they've dredged up about her funny. As he did earlier this month._ Yes, Granger had shown him some kindness, but that didn't mean he now had to feel _concern _over her hurt feelings from a few petty insults from a trashy tabloid. All he owed her was a verbal thank you and gesture of the kind he had just given Potter.

Well actually, a quiet part of himself started to admit, she had shown him _far _more than a bit of kindness. The amount of trust she'd shown in him that day at the cafe still shocked him, even after all this time. She'd even brought Scorp out of his shell, and most surprisingly of all, they'd both really _enjoyed_ her company. She had been funny, sweet. And of course, no-one had ever defended him like she had against that shopkeeper, or sounded so impassioned when discussing his rights, or supposed atonement.

Though it sounded excruciatingly sentimental, even in his own head, she'd made him want to be a _better _person. He'd always assumed Scorp would be the only one who would ever hold that honour since Astoria had passed away.

Draco swore to himself, noticing his leg was fidgeting. He placed a hand on his knee to calm it, sipped on his tea and his eyes fastened on the shut door where Harry had just gone. He glanced around the kitchen and then the garden and before he could think too hard about it, put his cup down, stood, and walked as gently as he could towards the closed door, his heart rate increasing incriminatingly every step he took. He took one last look around, held his ear near to the edge of the door and the doorframe and listened.

"It's nothing. I'm just - I'm being pathetic, all right?" Granger's voice was quiet and broken sounding and caused Draco's breath to hitch in his chest.

"Hermione, come on -" Harry was saying, a gentle pleading to his tone. There was a quiet, snuffling sound that Draco belatedly realised was Hermione crying. His heart gave an unpleasant flip. _Shit, I shouldn't be doing this. _Just as he made to stand away he heard a voice behind him, shrill in childish outrage.

"Excuse me, are you _eavesdropping_ on my Dad?" _Fuck! _Draco turned around, purposefully slowly to seem less suspicious. But it was unsuccessful. The boy was glaring at him, his eyes narrowed in accusation, his body held tense as if about to dual. Draco tried not to roll his eyes at the sight. He looked to be about twelve or thirteen and from the tips of his messy black hair, to the thin shape of his face, he was undoubtably Harry's eldest son. _James?_ Draco leant casually against the doorframe and brought his wand from his pocket to tap against his left hand. He saw the boy's eyes dart apprehensively towards it, but then he raised his chin even higher in defiance, as if to remind Draco whose house he was in.

"I wasn't doing any such thing. I'm Draco, Scorpius's father," he said, with a pained smile that may have come out slightly twisted.

"Yes you were. And I know who _you_ are." James said, eyes darting to where Draco's Dark Mark lay hidden beneath layers of robe. Draco felt a surge of annoyance, guilt over being caught out disappearing.

"You are, James?" the boy gave a slight nod. "You're just like your father was at your age. Gryffindor, right?"

The boys eyes widened slightly and he seemed to stand a little taller, his chest _actually_ puffed out_._ "Yes. Am I really like him?"

"Yes, just like him." _And it's not a compliment, _he added to himself darkly. "Do you mind telling Scorp I'm here?" _And fucking off? _

The boy nodded, looking smug, and began to walk back towards the hall door. He threw Draco one last narrowed eyed glare and left the room. _Little sanctimonious git. No wonder Severus turned into such a cantankerous old bastard by the end dealing with kids like him._

Draco let out a calming sigh, straightened up off the wall and moved quickly back to the other side of the room, lest Harry return and catch him hanging around there. He hovered instead at the back door and was just surveying the garden when he heard the distant sound of feet pounding down a staircase. He span around and his face broke into an enormous smile as Scorpius flung himself into the kitchen, distracting Draco totally from whatever was going on in the living room between Harry and Hermione.

"Father!" The boy ran around the table and threw himself into Draco's outstretched arms. In their crushing embrace, he pressed his face into Scorp's shoulders, and tried to absorb as much of him as he could, as if by osmosis. He smelt deliciously of himself, but clean and fresh and when they pulled apart Draco was surprised but pleased to see a smattering of faint golden freckles splashed across his son's nose and cheeks.

"Have a good time?" Scorp's smile widened and he nodded fervently.

"But I'm ready to come home. I missed you loads." Draco didn't even realise it were possible to feel such relief over something he hadn't been aware he'd been worried about. He felt his muscles relax, and they ached slightly, as if held unconsciously tense for a long time. Then Scorp frowned, and pulled away slightly more and Draco straightened up. "What's wrong with your voice? Why is it all croaky? And why are you wearing _robes?_" His nose wrinkled slightly.

"Oh, that's the potion brewing. The flat isn't a proper lab, after all. The ventilation isn't great. And I'm wearing _robes_ as that's usually what wizards wear. I had a meeting this morning."

"Oh." Scorp surveyed him with that achingly familiar worried frown and Draco had to fight to smooth his features against the smile that kept wanting to break out, lest Scorp didn't think he was taking his concern seriously. Even mention of his morning hadn't ruined his immediate happiness. "And have you been eating enough? Have you been okay?"

"Yes and yes," Draco replied, as solemnly as he could.

Scorp nodded and his expression cleared slightly. "And what about Grandma?" At this however, Draco felt himself deflate.

"She's... she's not great, Scorp."

Scorpius's face creased up in worry and he began to bite his upper lip. His gaze drifted from Draco's face and out across the garden as he thought. Draco took the opportunity to sit back at the table and took a long drink of tea, soothing his throat.

"I met Teddy's Gran this morning, Father. Cousin Andromeda."

"Oh really? What was she like?"

"She was a bit scary! But nice, I think. I think you'd like her."

Draco nodded as he drank his tea. "Right, okay," he said, noncommittally.

"Do you think she'd help Grandma?" Scorp had sauntered to the back door and picked up the quaffle. He was spinning it in his hands as he spoke, voice as carefully nonchalant as Draco's was. "They're sisters and Cousin Andromeda was talking about her. She told us some stories of when they were little. It didn't sound like she was angry or hated her or anything." He threw the ball in the air and caught it before lifting his wide blue eyes to meet his father's.

Draco opened his mouth to speak but then closed it as he struggled with what to say. But Scorp was looking at him expectantly so he stuttered something out. "Scorp, things aren't that simple -"

"But _why_ not? You said it happened before _you_ were born! I bet she could help!" the boy interrupted shrilly, his casual act dropped. Draco could tell he'd thought a lot about this, and so didn't know how to word his answer. It would disappoint Scorp no matter what, and he _so _wanted them to be on good terms. Before he could speak though, Scorp was talking again, eyes wide and appealing, rushing the words out as if they were rehearsed.

"Father, I think you need to reunite them, and meet Teddy and Cousin Andromeda. Our family _needs_ some more members in it, _especially_ since we've stopped going round to Granny and Grandpa's house and seeing Aunt Daphne and Uncle Blaise anymore."

Draco winced, both in reaction his son's attempts at emotional blackmail, and at the mention of Zabini in such an innocent voice. The two were a complete contradiction. But then, with timing that couldn't be more perfect, Potter opened the door to the living room and poked his head around and Draco was saved from answering.

He spotted Scorpius and gave him a brief smile. Then he looked back at Draco and said, "Hermione's coming over in a few minutes." Draco rose from his chair, abruptly.

"Okay, well Scorp and I will be on our way then." But Harry was shaking his head.

"No, I told her you're here and she doesn't mind. She didn't want to make a _fuss_," he said with an eye roll and Draco knew he was repeating a snippet of an argument they must have had. Draco stood uncertainly and floundered over his decision. There was a brief moment of silence as both Scorp and Harry watched him and then he slowly sat back down and Harry smiled. _It's mostly because I need to see that article, _he thought doggedly to himself. _Not _because of a sudden desire to see the witch herself. To see if she was okay. And _not _because of the feeling he'd got when Harry said she didn't mind if he was there...

Harry pulled his head back around and Scorp sat down next to Draco and began to fill him in on the things he had left out of his letters. But Draco could only half listen, he was suddenly feeling anxious about seeing Granger, ridiculously so. In no time at all he could make out voices coming from the living room and he cleared his throat, eyes locked on the door. _Merlin, _he needed to get a healing potion from somewhere for his voice.

It finally opened and Harry walked through, going immediately to the kettle to switch it on. Granger then entered the kitchen. Her head was held high and any trace of the tears Draco had overheard had gone. But whether it was because he knew that they _had_ existed, or that smile she gave Draco was slightly faltering, he could tell that she was still upset.

He found himself desperate for the knowledge of how he could make it better for her. It made sense, he supposed dazedly, that he should feel like this. She had helped him, and now he wanted to help her, in the same way that he had helped Harry earlier. That's all there was to it.

She made her way over to the table and sat down sideways on one of the chairs to face Harry, her body in profile to Draco. She curled a knee up to her chest and wrapped her arms around it, pressing her chest into her leg. She was dressed in muggle clothes: loosely fitting jeans and a simple long sleeved blue T-shirt. Her face was free from makeup and her hair was damp and loosely tied back in a long plait that was draped over her shoulder. The overall effect made her look very young and very wholesome.

She swung her plait then over her shoulder to hang on her back and Draco was wafted by the scent of lavender. His eyes were drawn to her newly exposed neck and he noticed a slight pink flush on her skin as if from a bath, and automatically wondered whether it extended down to her chest and over the rest of her body. He was transfixed by the thought, all internal arguments over the nature of his concern for her forgotten. Wholesomeness in relation to Granger was a concept far, far from his mind now.

He watched her exhale shakily and with faraway eyes cast down, accept a mug of tea from Harry. She nodded her head in reaction to something someone said that Draco didn't hear and he blinked, and shook himself. He suddenly realised Hermione was looking at him, her body angled towards him expectantly. He looked around at Scorp, who was watching him with a bemused look.

"Earth to Father!" he said with a sharp poke to Draco's side.

"What?" he croaked with a frown. Scorpius giggled.

"I was just saying how we may have cracked the problem with the warding." Harry said, flashing a smile at Scorpius.

"Oh, yes." Draco cleared his throat pointlessly and felt himself heat up. He latched gratefully on to the conversation topic, desperately hoping he hadn't been too transparent. She would think he was pathetic if she knew where his thought had taken him. He felt ridiculous, like some blushing, seventh year Hufflepuff virgin. Over just a hint of exposed neck!

He cleared his throat again and picked up his cup for something to do with his hands. "Yes, I thought perhaps instead of Potter's first idea of using the Algiz Rune, the Eihwaz Rune could be used in conjunction with the Hagalaz Rune. Along with the Isa and oneiric Lagaz Potter originally decided on." He hoped his voice didn't sound as shaken as he was feeling. Hermione nodded, and Draco noticed her expression clearing and her eyes becoming more focussed as she looked at him.

"But the Hagalaz Rune channels power that could potentially rampage through the subconscious. It's quite a risk," she said, sitting up a little straighter as she spoke. Her voice was quiet, but at least it was steady. _Yes, Harry was right to have brought this up as a distraction, _he thought, casting his mind far back to Hogwarts and how passionate she had seemed during that class. Well, every class really, but Ancient Runes, just like Arithmancy, had seemed like a _particular _favourite.

"But as long as the Eihwaz is instructed to protect all areas of the mind _apart_ from those memories that contain evidence of magic, and the barriers supplied by the Isa are slippery enough, it should work. Given Potter's magic is strong enough to bend them to this purpose, that is." He glanced at Harry, who snorted.

"I think I can handle it._" _

Draco rolled his eyes and looked back at Hermione, but instead of looking at Harry she was watching him with such directness it was like stepping into a patch of warm sunlight.

"Did you read about those Runes that were recently discovered in Peru?" she asked, a hint of a smile playing about her lips. He blinked, her sunlight startling him. _Pull yourself together. She just asked you a question that has nothing to do with Harry, or Scorp. And she's already looking better, so keep her interested. _

"The ones that the muggles discovered by accident and the Peruvian ministry had to do a hasty intervention over? Yeah I did."

She finally cracked a proper smile. "Well, if you think the Lagaz Rune will be strong enough to trick a muggle's brain into believing that it's consciously dreaming instead of actually _seeing_ magic," _we hadn't even explained that part to her, she just worked it out, _he thought, momentarily rocked by the reminder or her intelligence "- then you should look into some of these Runes they've managed to decipher. I think they've worked out there are about five or six _completely separate_ Runes so far that just relate to different aspects or types of dreaming." Her voice was almost incredulous with wonder and Draco felt himself smile and finally start to unwind.

"Why's that then?" Harry asked, sounding mildly interested. Hermione raised her eyebrows at Draco, almost like she really wanted to hear _his_ answer. If it meant her continuing to look more and more like herself, then he would happily oblige.

"The wizards, or Shaman as they were known, shared their gifts of magic with the muggles through the use of magical plants to induce dream-like states. It was a way for the muggle to have access to their own subconscious." A quick glance at Scorp's confused look caused him to add, "Well, the ancient civilisations in Peru, and most of the Americas really, didn't have a separate magical and muggle culture you see."

"Wow, imagine that." Potter said dryly, but Draco ignored him and turned back to address Hermione.

"I imagine these Runes were another method, one that got lost in time. A lot of the Shaman's magic revolved around the ability to enter one's mind, as if it were a physical place. Dreaming is just a small aspect of that. It puts our own forays into the mind arts into shame," he said.

Hermione was nodding along empathetically and she dropped the leg that had been clasped to her chest to the floor and scooted her chair towards Draco. She leant forwards, resting her elbows on the table, causing the scoop neck of her T shirt to hang away from her chest slightly. Draco found he had to focus all his attention very hard on her words and her eyes and on _not_ looking down.

"It's _incredibly_ fascinating. I'd love to be able to study it further. That we just dismiss dreaming as a phenomenon without any actual intrinsic power, other than as a psychological tool, and er, divination, I suppose," she added with a smirk, as if it were barely worth mentioning.

"Don't forget about providing psychic two way links to evil Dark Lords," Harry said facetiously, but Hermione merely rolled her eyes at him and continued talking to Draco, as if that wasn't the single most horrific thing he'd ever heard in his life.

"But these wizards saw it as so much more. I can't even imagine what they could achieve."

"It is fascinating, yes..." Draco shook his head, still thrown by the levity used by Harry in reference to the Dark Lord. And, _fuck, _had that been true? He frowned, but ploughed on - that was a question for another time. "But of course those Runes could never work here, for what we want them to do."

"No, of course not. But still." She looked distantly sad.

"Why not? I demand ancient Peruvian Wards!" Harry announced in exaggerated indignation, banging his fist on the table, causing Scorp to laugh. "But seriously, why not? That sounds brilliant."

Draco gave Harry a wry smile and ran his hand down the back of his son's neck to rest on his back. "Well, surely you know a bit about this from that book in your study? The magic the Runes tap into is the same as we use with our wands, but it comes more directly from the earth. The ancient cultures who developed runic magic had a much closer relationship with nature and the earth and so the runes they developed truly reflect their environments.

"The South American's magic involved so much dreaming _because_ of the hallucinogenic nature of the magical plants in the Amazon. They were shaped by their environment, just as the Anglo-Saxons were shaped by theirs. It's not nearly as glamourous sounding but The Elder Futhark contains so many Runes that relate to temperature or weather because, for one of many reasons, dying from frostbite or in a blizzard was a real danger to them.

"Therefore we can expect, and this has been proven, that the Nordic Runes will work a lot more effectively here than they would in Peru, and vice versa. This is because the Elder Futhark is more attuned to the magic that flows from the earth here, than anywhere else," he finished.

"It sounds almost Heathen," Harry said.

"Well it is, of course." Draco replied with a frown. Didn't Harry know _anything? _He looked at Hermione then and saw her looking at him with such a complex expression that he could barely work it out. Well, he could certainly tell she was thinking hard about something, something that had just immediately come to her, if the hint of surprise and wonder about her eyes was anything to go off.

The awareness came to Draco then, like a jolt of magic, that Hermione was actually showing her feelings to him _at all_. When they'd met the previous week, she'd been acting as if she'd received the greatest Pure-Blood training in schooling her emotions. Nothing had been given away, right up until the incident in the Quidditch Shop. But something had changed and she was back to wearing her heart on her sleeve. What was different today? Was it that he had passed from a possible threat in her eyes, to something else? Or that she was still badly shaken from the article and hadn't erected those defences back up? It was ridiculous really - this was the type of thing he would normally have noticed immediately.

And now she was frowning, looking at him in puzzlement. "Malfoy, what's happened to your voice?" she asked, distracting him from his revelation.

He cleared his throat self consciously. "Oh, I've been brewing potions for a few days. The fumes got pretty bad and I couldn't bear to be in a bubble head charm constantly." He shrugged. "It doesn't hurt, I just need to get a healing potion."

Hermione nodded slowly. "I heard about that, that's really great. It was quite the order, right?" She gave him a dazzling smile that this time, Draco had to strain to return, knowing he didn't deserve it. "Come here." She drew her wand and leant forwards, beckoning him towards her.

He faltered, unsure of what to do. But then Scorp poked him again in the thigh and he stood, placed his hands on the table and cautiously leant towards her, fully meeting her warm, chocolate brown eyes. Up close he could just make out that they still had a slight puffy redness to them and he felt concern ripple through him again. She was still vulnerable, she was probably still upset, despite all of his and Harry's work to distract her.

Draco could have stretched out a hand and run it along her cheek, they were that close. And he found he _really _wanted to, she looked so _soft_. Her face was beautifully clear and smooth, with the only discolouration to her skin a slight blush, high on her cheeks and a hint of blueish shadow beneath her eyes. The lingering lavender scent washed over him and as he breathed it in, deeply but inaudibly, he began to imagine again, just how warm and good she would feel beneath his fingers and how gentle her own hands would feel on him.

But he balled his hands into fists instead and tried to get a hold on himself, berating himself for how easily his thoughts kept straying. It was painfully juvenile, and totally pointless anyway_, _as Hermione Granger would never return these kinds of feelings. He _couldn't_ have a repeat of what he had done the last time they had stood in this kitchen. Merlin, that had almost crucified him with embarrassment the next day. At least he'd had an excuse for his loss of control, however shameful, and she seemed to have got over it.

She raised her wand to point at his neck. Draco instinctively tensed and she gave him a reassuring smile that only served to make his heart beat even faster.

"I'm going to heal you. Trust me." She said, gently. He nodded, quite literally not being able to speak. "Episky."

The magic that coated his throat was hot and stung for a split second, but then faded. He swallowed delicately and sat back down as soon as Hermione drew her wand away.

"Thank you," he ventured, and found his voice had lost the hoarse edge. Hermione beamed at him again and he returned the smile, cautiously, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward at how intimate the moment had felt, and how it had taken place in front of Harry and Scorp. _Fuck, I hope they didn't notice anything. I hope I wasn't acting as strangely as I feel. _

Just as he was beginning to pray for someone to break the charged silence, Harry said, "Oh Hermione, you should have left him. I'd got used to Malfoy sounding all husky. I thought it was sexy." Harry pouted and then laughed as each person looked to him in varying degrees of incredulity. Draco grimaced. _Of all the things, that_ _was meant to make this less awkward?_

Scorp had screwed up his face and brought his hands to his eyes as if the word 'sexy' should never have been uttered in relation to his _dad. _Draco squeezed his hand in camaraderie and Hermione shook her head, looking slightly embarrassed and said something under her breath that sounded a lot like, "honestly." Harry grinned cheerfully down at Scorpius.

"Don't worry Scorp, I'm only joking. Your dad _really_ isn't my type. I'm not _that_ masochistic." Scorpius looked around at his dad in confusion and before Draco could decide whether or not his come back was appropriate for his son's ears, Hermione let out a burst of sudden laughter. It rang clearly and irresistibly around the room like early morning birdsong, and as Draco caught her eyes he found he couldn't help but to join in. It made his chest feel lighter and looser, as if the tension he'd felt building within him since Granger first beckoned him over had drained away.

He looked at Harry, curiously wondering if that had been the man's aim, and received the quickest flash of a wink. He nodded, almost imperceptibly in reply, in a silent communication of thanks. So it would seem Potter _had _noticed Granger's effect on him.

"Come on, let's go into the garden, summer isn't going to be around forever." Harry then announced. He glanced up at the clock on the wall and leant back in his chair, slapping his hands down on the table. "It's only four thirty... but it is a Saturday. What do you say we crack out a bottle?" he asked with a solemn raise of his eyebrows.

Granger made a show of deliberating and glanced at Draco quickly before nodding, looking almost painfully resigned and slightly embarrassed over it. "I shouldn't really, Harry... but maybe today I can make an exception."

The adults began to make their way outside, Harry clutching a chilled bottle of white and three glasses, but Draco faltered at the door, excusing himself for a moment to have a private work with Scorpius. There was nothing he wanted more in that moment, despite how strange it would feel, than to sit down and drink wine with Potter and Granger, but there was something he _needed _to do first. For his own piece of mind.

He turned back into the kitchen, and saw with relief that it was empty. Draco stole another look into the garden through the window to see them both sitting on the lawn furniture, already deep in conversation and moved quickly to the living room. He slipped inside, shut the door gently behind him and spotted Granger's letter folded on the mantlepiece above the fireplace.

The handwritten note, however tempting, was held to the side and Draco hastily unfolded the newspaper, eager to finally find out exactly what Zabini had promised he'd find interesting_. _His eyes ran briefly down the article, immediately discounting the contents due to the purely Skeeter inspired style of journalism. _Surely _that couldn't be the reason she was so upset? Zabini had probably found it hilarious. _It's almost a relief it's just this. Why was I so paranoid? _

And then he gave his full attention to the image and his contempt soon gave way to pure, heart racing, panic.

For this skirt had looked _far_ better on her in reality, and at first, he merely snorted in skepticism at the appearance of the animated red circle and what it highlighted. That definitely looked fake.

But then he was hit by a flash of gut wrenching understanding and he _knew_, with absolute_, _irrefutable certainty that it _was_ fake, and the thought made his blood run cold.

For while he recognised her outfit, and while he could just about identify the shop in the background, it was the way her frizzy mane of hair whipped around her in an angry storm, the way she looked as she pleaded and ranted with all her glorious, righteous outrage, that told Draco that _this_ _photo_ had been taken mere moments after they had been kicked out of Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley the week before, and the person who Granger was addressing and who had been cropped out of the frame, was _himself._


	18. Instincts and Eggshells

Chapter 18 - Instincts and Eggshells

"Harry, he'd actually read that paper on the Peruvian Runes. Do you remember when it came out? I couldn't find _anyone _to discuss it with, it was _so_ frustrating." Hermione was whispering across the table to Harry, despite being far enough away from the house to prevent them from being overheard. It had been a good five minutes since they'd gone outside and Draco was probably about to come out to join them on the lawn any moment now. A progress report of 'Project Malfoy' was needed, _immediately. _

She creaked forward on the old wooden garden chair, sitting right on the edge, her hands clasped around her wine glass on the wrought iron table, and continued on an even lower voice, wide eyes latched wholeheartedly on Harry's. "What did you think? He's _so _much better than when he was last over."

Harry took a swig of wine before answering, "what do I think about Malfoy? Yeah, he certainly seems a lot more together than before. And Scorp's been on great form this week."

"How was he when you two were working on the Runes this afternoon?"

"Um, he was fine. Well, he was great, actually."

"Was he patient? Did he explain things to you clearly?"

"Surprisingly so. Yes, to both." Hermione nodded but remained silent. "Hermione, what are you thinking?" Harry asked her. He looked bemused, if a bit wary.

She bit her lip and smiled, hearing him but not wanting to answer just yet. She needed to think for a moment, to assign appropriate, _rational_ sounding words to where her thoughts had taken her.

"Hermione," he said, coaxingly.

Her eyes snapped back to him from where they had wandered across the garden, and for some reason, she felt herself begin to blush. She then took a great gulp of wine instead of answering, finding the alcohol was having the pleasant affect of strengthening her resolve.

"Hermione, you have that _look_. The one you get when you're planning something outrageous or completely insane."

"Harry! I don't have a _look._"

"Yes you do, you've got it now. Please, fill me in?"

Hermione snorted, shook her head and then pushed a stray lock of hair off her face and behind her ear. She began tracing around the edge of her glass with her finger, took a deep breath and reluctantly began to speak, already dreading Harry's reaction. He was right, it _would_ sound insane said out loud like this. Well, it sounded insane in her head too, but she couldn't stop the bubbling, exciting feeling that she was on to something good.

"Well. You know how I've been working this summer to re-organise the syllabus for Burbage?" She glanced up to see him nod, and then fastened her eyes back down on the glass. "Well, History of Magic is being combined with a more general course of World History, and it's not going to be as insular as what we were '_taught'_ by Binns. Well_, _this leaves a slight gap in the curriculum for a subject that does focus on our own culture, and, well, wizarding culture as a whole."

In her periphery Hermione saw Harry frown and open his mouth as if about to speak, so she looked up at him from her glass and rushed on, "I know what you're thinking, but I'm not _just_ talking about traditional pure-blood culture, their funny customs and rituals, although that of course has its place, but the deeper roots of our society. Yeah, we'll go into the usual topics like where the Ministry came from, the Wizengamot, and so on and so forth, but also something Malfoy just touched upon inside, the history of magic and spell casting _itself. _How Runes were once so widespread, but now are only used for specific things; how it came to be that the spells we speak are derived from Latin. Wand-lore is a fascinating branch of magic that you can bet an eleven year old pure-blood will know more about than any eighteen year old muggle born.

"You know that nearly _all_ the students at Burbage are from muggle backgrounds, and how now, more than ever it seems that society is demanding that we respect _their _wizarding culture. Things have come a long way in twenty years but all that could change, especially with the current political climate... But even at Hogwarts today, none of that stuff is _really _taught, so how do we have any hope of succeeding? Who taught us, for example, about the proper etiquette for a traditional wizard's funeral? And, yeah, we were taught that Paganism was a common practice until the ministry outlawed it two hundred years ago, but we _weren't _told that pockets of isolated pure-bloods still practice it today and the Ministry just turns a blind eye." She paused to take a breath.

"I know, It's just like with Babbitty Rabbitty. Where are you going with this?" Harry said after a moment, frowning.

"Okay, I'm getting to that. You're right, no one told us about Babbitty Rabbitty and look how that held us back. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, I want to make the people stop seeing it as _their _culture and see it as _ours. _And so-" she took a deep breath and rushed out, "I'm thinking about asking Malfoy if he wants to run the class." Harry's glass paused on the way to his lips and he dropped it down slowly, looking, to her disappointment, not as excited as she had hoped. Well in fact, he looked down right shocked.

"But Hermione -"

"Hear me out, Harry!" She spoke quickly, her voice rising above a whisper, as if pure volume and speed would convince Harry to agree with her in the way she already suspected the content of her speech wouldn't. "No one knows as much about this as a pure-blood does, _and_ we know he's passionate about the subject! He told me so himself at Scorp's interview! And of course, his current potion job is fantastic, but that will be finished soon, and then he'll be looking for more work. I wouldn't shove a whole school's worth of students on him at once of course. He could maybe start off as little as an hour or two a week, for seventh year students or whoever shows an interest."

Harry leant forward, bringing his elbows on to the table and clasped his hands in front of him. "Have you just come up with this idea in the past five minutes?" He spoke slowly and quietly, as if to counteract her urgent monologue. As if to instil sense into her. Instead, it just made her feel annoyed and a bit patronised. She made sure her next words were as deliberate as his.

"Well no. I've been thinking about it for some time. I'd never actually considered Malfoy for a candidate until today."

"Hermione, Malfoy _was _brilliant today, I'll admit that, but please, you have to be careful with him."

Hermione looked at him sharply. "I thought _you_ were the one who wanted to help him in the first place? I thought _you_ were the one to convince me he'd changed?"

"I did, and I still do! Of course, I know he has! But I don't think it's a good idea to shove a load of responsibly like that on his plate. He seems fine today, but we don't know what he'll be like tomorrow." He lowered his voice and pinned her with the directness of his gaze. "I don't want you to put all your hopes on him, Hermione. He's come a long way, but we can't assume he's up to, or even willing to accept such a challenge, just yet. We need to take things _slowly_ with him.

"Also, now _please _don't take this the wrong way, but don't you think you might be jumping into what seems like a great idea, without giving it enough time to sink in? You were really upset earlier-" Hermione felt her annoyance with Harry crest to the surface with those words, and she sharply swiped her hand through the air as if she were casting a charm that could physically bar them from reaching her.

But Harry ruthlessly pressed on, still in that infuriatingly gentle voice, "and the accusations the press have been throwing at you may have made you think you need to do something to appease them. But you _don_'_t, _Hermione. Don't feel like you need to make a whole new subject, just to make a backwards bunch of racist twats feel better about their old, mouldy traditions and quite frankly, _boring_ lives."

Hermione glared at the table, unable to meet or acknowledge the earnest look she'd undoubtably find in Harry's eyes. She let out a breath through clenched teeth and picked up her glass to take a long, deep drink. Harry's words had been like an ornamental knife, his gentle delivery hiding their potential for devastation. They deftly pierced the delicate bubble of happiness that had begun to grow since she'd arrived that afternoon, and without that soft fantasy that she'd began to believe in about Malfoy, nurtured and given life by his words and his rare smiles, all the pain and humiliation of the past couple of hours, wrenched up by the article in the Daily Post, crowded back at her and she shut her eyes against it all, turning away from her friend.

She heard him murmur her name and felt his hand rest on her shoulder but she shrugged it off, but after a moment span back around to face him, unable to let him have the last word, her hurt causing previously unacknowledged thoughts to spit uncontrollably from the back of her throat like hissing bile. "This _isn_'_t_ about the bloody WIP, and this _isn_'_t_ about me feeling upset and lonely like some fucking _spinster_ and thinking _Draco Malfoy _could fill the sad, _weeping_ hole in my heart-"

"I didn't say that, Hermione! Why have you leapt to that conclusion!?" Harry exclaimed, raising his hands up in defence. Hermione quickly brought her fingers to her face and ran them roughly underneath her eyes, wiping away any tears before they could establish themselves. _What was that?! You_'_re becoming hysterical! Pull yourself together! If there_'_s anything to convince Harry you_'_re not all right, it_'_s saying something like _that_._

"Fine, sorry. I know you didn't, I just mean -" but she was interrupted by Harry's hand pressing on her shoulder and a warning flash from his eyes. She turned in her chair, following the direction of his gaze and saw Malfoy striding across the garden towards them.

His formal black robes were billowing as he walked, and she was startled to see his face looking cold and impassive once again. He was not looking at them, but studiously at the trees behind. There was something in his posture and about his shoulders that was unnaturally ridged and Hermione experienced the horrible, sinking realisation that she may have been wrong after all. Harry squeezed her shoulder before he dropped his hand.

His comfort, however, only caused her tears to well back up. Hermione turned quickly back around to try and discreetly wipe her eyes again on the corner of her sleeve, furiously cursing herself all the while. She didn't see the way Malfoy blinked as he saw the action, or the way his eyes widened and the set of his jaw became softer as he tested murmured words of concern on his tongue.

But then he came to himself.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting anything," he drawled from behind her. She took a moment to fill her lungs with the supposedly peaceful air of late summer and turned around to meet him. He was watching her intently but with such an infuriatingly guarded expression Hermione couldn't read a single thing into it. The realisation crushed the air out of her in a rush, leaving her chest feeling tight and unstable.

She plastered what she hoped was a carefree smile on her face, a weak attempt to dissemble that was akin to trying to damn a flood with leaves and said, "not at all. Will you join us?" As she spoke her voice rose waveringly into an unnaturally high pitch and she winced. If her face hadn't done it, she'd certainly just been betrayed by her vocal cords.

Malfoy shook his head but flicked his eyes from her to Harry to address him instead, as if it hadn't been Hermione that asked the question. "I'm sorry, but Scorpius and I will have to be on our way." Hermione dug her nails painfully into her hands to try and stop herself from crying, and didn't dare look at Harry. Instead she continued to watch Malfoy, desperateto understand what was going on. "Potter, thank you again for taking care of Scorp over the last few days." He held out his hand stiffly and Harry leant over the table to shake it.

"It's been a pleasure. Did he tell you about the party we're having on Wednesday? It's a sort of send off for the boys and for the rest of the family, the evening before school starts."

Malfoy brought his arm back down with a snap and his manner became even more austere. _What's happened to you in the last ten minutes to make you shut down like this? _Hermione thought, wildly. _What about our conversation? I wanted to talk to you about so much more._

"He mentioned it. Of course he may attend. I shall drop him off at six."

Hermione heard Harry's deep, steadying intake of breath beside her and realised, he was as bothered by Malfoy's sudden turn as she was.

"And did he say the invite's open to you, as well?" Harry said, a display of utmost patience.

For some unknown reason, Malfoy seemed to interpret the tone badly and his eyes narrowed as he answered. His voice was bitingly cold, the words as clipped as possible without them becoming staccato. "He did. And while I thank you for your invitation, I'm afraid my attendance won't be possible." Hermione felt whatever was left of that stupid, idiotic bubble wither. Still, he wouldn't look at her.

"Fine, well, we'll just see you at some point in the distant future I suppose." Harry drawled, just adopting enough of a hint of Malfoy's cut-glass accent for it to come across as mocking. He leant back in his chair, a cold smirk on his lips that was _almost_ as awful as the one Malfoy used to wear, and raised his glass lazily to the blonde in the parody of a toast.

Malfoy drew himself up, and it was almost like the boy from Hogwarts was glaring at them from across time. His eyes narrowed even further, completely disguising any hint of the soft grey of his irises; his nostrils flared and the corners of his pursed mouth pulled down into the beginnings of a sneer. Hermione winced, looking back and forth between the two wizards as the sudden tension began to fracture around them.

But instead of spitting out whatever poisonous retort that strained against his lips, Malfoy brought them un-expectantly back to the present. He swallowed, and _finally_, his eyes met hers, and Hermione thought them tinged with regret, but a split second later his expression had dissolved back into impassivity and she knew she had imagined it. He nodded once, span on his heel, and with his back held impossibly straight, strode back towards the house.

Hermione let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumped as she watched him disappear. She felt like an utter fool and bitterly wondered when she had become so pathetically desperate for Draco Malfoy to be the type of person who _regretted _his actions. That she'd actually just tried to project some kind of vulnerability on to a passing look that lasted less than a second and that almost definitely meant nothing, was a humiliating testament to her current emotional instability. She finally turned to face Harry, dreading and surrendered to his words.

He was grimacing as he polished off the rest of his wine. He turned to her and said, his voice still low but no where near as calm as before, "and _that _is why you can't put your trust Malfoy just yet." At least she could say he wasn't pleased to be proved right.

* * *

But Hermione Granger was nothing if not an optimist. It was what as a teenager had ensured her continued efforts with the doomed SPEW, what had powered her through the endless tedium and overwhelming hopelessness of the Horcrux hunt with Harry and Ron; what had convinced her that her seemingly ordinary seventeen year old best friend could defeat the most feared Dark Lord of all time, and what, to this day, still made her truly _believe _in her future success with Burbage and more remotely, within the wider wizarding world itself.

It was this determined optimism (often presenting itself as bravery,) that had landed her in Gryffindor, as oppose to the two other options for someone of her ambition or rationality, and it was this optimism that refused to allow Hermione to view the incident in the garden as logic dictated: a warning to back off from Malfoy. There was a reason she wasn't a Ravenclaw or Slytherin, and whether she was either consciously living up to the choice she had made during her Sorting, or subconsciously exhibiting the attributes that landed her there, was neither here nor there.

As soon as time had begun to do its job of making the remembrance of past events more bearable, rounding off painful truths and gently eroding the sharpness of certain feelings, she could begin to think about the memories of that day without suffering from the embarrassment she felt over her emotional behaviour post-article. And over how she had reacted to a simple, routine, _phone call _to her parents_._ Once those corrupting influences had been lessened and pushed to the back of her mind, she lived afresh the conversations they'd had in the kitchen and the moment in the garden.

In her eternal optimism, newly regained and combined with the gift of logical, objective hindsight, (a gift that she cherished certainly more than any other Gryffindor she knew,) Hermione came to the conclusion that it was almost _definitely_ her own drastic mood swings that had made the situation seem ten times worse than it actually had been. Harry's own incivility had been understandable, given the amount of time and effort he'd invested in Scorpius, he had every right to expect a little more than icy politeness from Malfoy; but as for her reaction, Hermione decided it was all that bloody article's fault for making her extra sensitive.

And Harry had been wrong to attribute Malfoy's abrupt change in mood on a general mental instability_. _Something had happened to him in the time between they'd gone outside and he joined them, she _knew _it. Hermione could recognise that Harry had been attempting to appeal to her sense of reason, and of course she wasn't so far gone with her ideas that she dismissed Harry's concern out of hand. In fact, after a bit of time, and a disassociation from her muddled emotions from that day, Hermione decided that being left alone, was exactly what Malfoy _didn't _need. She had to know if he was alright, and he needed to know someone cared enough to check. Even if, god forbid, her logic was flawed, she couldn't ignore her gut feeling.

So Hermione got over her hangover on Sunday, went back to work on Monday and slowly but surely caught herself thinking more and more about Draco Malfoy.

He had been different that day. Different even to how different he had seemed in Diagon Alley a couple of weeks back. It was as if every time they met, she was meeting a new part of him, and as if he was keeping something back from her, to save for the next time.

Hermione loved a challenge, more than _anything _else, and Malfoy presented one perfectly. Each time she couldn't read his expression seemed to ignite her curiosity further, and every rare smile or laugh she caused subsequently felt like a gift. Almost out of nowhere, she found herself longing to receive more, and more absurdly, longing to find out how much more she could learn about him other than what he presented to the world.

Although these feelings were startling in their intensity, and while she couldn't pin point exactly the moment they had begun, she didn't let them worry her as it was easy to attribute them to the idea she had made the mistake of telling Harry about. The idea that she spent more and more time indulging in over the following days. It grew within her, and she fed it each time she remembered the way Malfoy seemed to say either exactly what she had been hoping for, or even better, something delightfully unexpected. In her mind, it made _perfect _sense that she should offer him this teaching position. It would benefit them both: his intelligence was surely being wasted and the amount of knowledge he had on the subject was crying out to be shared amongst her pupils. And despite what she remembered of Malfoy's impatience with ineptitude and bad temper at Hogwarts, she felt sure he had better control over it now.

However, she wouldn't ignore Harry's words of warnings totally. She would keep the plans to herself to the time being, see how things played out for a bit longer. In any case, what with school about to start in two days, her work load was large enough without having to organise and manage a whole new subject.

And so, it was the everlasting, burning Gryffindor within Hermione, that was unwilling to let her accept that she had been wrong over that flash of regret she'd seen in his eye, that made her leave Burbage High on Tuesday and travel to Bethnal Green instead of home.

Or perhaps it was just the air that day; some wind, some magic, or maybe even, just some sort of hormone that caused her to give into her instincts in the way that until now, the niggling voice of reason (that quite ludicrously sounded like Harry Potter,) had been preventing her from doing. There was a strange atmosphere that evening that made her feel wild, like there was a big, tightly wound coil of energy throbbing within her core. She felt capable of anything, _even_ breaking through Draco Malfoy's icy defences.

She left the tube station and looked at the sky as she walked west, breathing deeply to control the pace of her heart, to calm the physical thrill and nerves she was feeling over taking such decisive action. As the sun neared the horizon it blinded her, having undercut the heavy, bruised clouds that sat over London. As a result the light seemed too bright, and the odd patch of clear sky seemed an unnatural cobalt blue. The air was still and yet simultaneously seemed to vibrate under the weight of those looming clouds, but just as she reached the estate the Malfoys called home, the first few fat drops of rain had begun to fall, landing heavily on the warm pavement like newly minted coins.

Hermione began the climb to the flat and as she went she willed the optimism and energy that had inspired this spontaneous visit not to leave her, as the tension in the air had on the arrival of the long awaited rain. She was determined to do this, to see him again. To confirm to herself that Harry was wrong. That she was right. She _had to _be. There was no way she'd invested that much time, or even _thought _in someone, to allow them to just distance themselves, without giving her any opinion in the matter. Not when they had so much potential.

He wasn't going to get away with thinking he could convince them that he was still above their company and drive them away with a closed off glare and cold civility. Not when she'd been on the receiving end of the other side to his personality. The glimpses of warmth, of love for his son, of strength and selflessness. Hermione felt nerves thrill through her body, her blood pumping ever faster around her veins, not just because of the stairs she was taking two at a time, though that was a good excuse.

Though as she stood at the door, catching her breath and rapping her knuckles against the wood, she realised she couldn't exactly _tell _Malfoy the reason for her visit! Hermione began to panic, the emotion rising suddenly to the surface with very little stimulation, the tension she'd felt outside manifesting itself in a prickling sensation in her palms and down her neck. Her heart continued to beat hard and fast, and with each passing moment she struggled for an excuse, it seemed to intensify. _What do I say? What do I say? Would you like to be a teacher? Fuck, oh god no._ _Are you okay after Saturday?_ Though he didn't seem to react well to overtly obvious concern or god forbid, pity.

But no one came to the door, and Hermione's racing thoughts and pulse began to subside. After half a minute stretched out she knocked again, more loudly. She self consciously tucked a smooth curl of her Sleekeazy's treated hair behind her ears and stole a glance down the hall. Maybe they were out? She sighed, and tried to rally herself again the unexpected crush of disappointment.

One last try. She knocked, feeling completely foolish and stood back from the door, preparing to leave. But then it opened a crack, and her heart leapt. It was Draco and he squeezed his head and half his body around the door whilst keeping it as closed as possible. He was wearing a pale, blue-grey T shirt that brought out an previously unnoticed warmth in his silvery eyes, a dark, silky, comfortable looking pair of trousers, and his feet were bare. His widened eyes and the perfect 'o' his mouth made as he looked down at her was such a beautiful contrast to the last expression she'd seen him wear, it made Hermione smile widely.

And then a gust of air from a window somewhere inside swept around the door into the hallway the unmistakable scent of boiling nightshade, and Malfoy's head had disappeared back into the flat. He left the door open however, and Hermione hovered, lost at what she was meant to do.

"Please come in!" came his shout, so in relief she slipped inside. The evening sunlight that had seemed bright on the street, was blindingly direct up here in his flat, and back lit Malfoy so dramatically Hermione couldn't make out his features. He was stood at the kitchen table, back to the window, leaning over a large black cauldron. She noted with disapproval that his head was held within a potent looking plume of sunlit cloudy vapour that was snaking its way up to the ceiling before being swept along in the current of air from the open window.

Not wanting to distract him, she moved quietly to the side and as soon as the suns glare was lessened used the opportunity of his distracted attention to fully take him in, feeling a slight thrill as she did so. His legs were pleasingly long in proportion to his height, his hips were narrow and though he was a little stooped as he bent into the fumes, she could tell his shoulders were wide and his stature still proud. His skin on his upper arms was milky white and completely unblemished, and although he looked on the thin side of lean, the muscles underneath were solid and close to the surface as he stirred the potion. Hermione realised, in surprise, that she'd never actually _seen _Malfoy's bare arms. Then her eyes were drawn to his left forearm and the faded, twisted red scar of this Dark Mark and realised that of course, that was the reason why.

However, instead of the expected revulsion she actually felt guilt thrum in her chest, and she began to feel almost voyeuristic, leering at him while he had no control over it. She was suddenly aware of how her spontaneous act must seem to him: an insensitive invasion of his private space; the only place he felt comfortable enough to wear a T shirt like a normal person. At once, all her energy and assuredness in the fundamental rightness of her coming here and asserting her presence on him left her in a rush. Without it she felt as bereft and dirty as a crushed snail shell.

The Mark was the last thing on Malfoy's mind though what with the utmost concentration he was displaying over the brewing. He was mouthing silently as he dropped small black pieces of what looked like beetle shell into the potion at measured intervals. A long thin glass rod was held in his left hand and he was using it to stir a slow, complicated sequence of clockwise and widdershins circles. He glanced up at her and she grimaced, quickly mouthing _sorry._ "I'll just be a few minutes," he said quietly in reply.

Hermione nodded, squirming inside, debating how best to slip away without causing too much fuss. She wandered to a cheap looking bookshelf; the type that comes with a pre-furnished low rent flat, and ran her eyes along the spines, yet was incapable to give them much attention due to her anxiety.

Finally, she heard Malfoy clear his throat and she turned back around. He was placing the glass rod back down on the table and was frowning slightly as he looked at her. His blond hair was greasy from the fumes and it reminded Hermione for a split second of Professor Snape. Malfoy seemed to notice where her gaze had landed and he quickly dragged his hand through his hair, pulling the lanky strands off his forehead and back into a rough version of the style he'd used to wear at school. But he didn't say anything, either seeming to wait for her to speak first, or perhaps not really knowing _how _to deal with this sudden and unexpected visitor.

Hermione gave him a weak smile, and tried to ignore the fluttering of her nerves. She felt _incredibly _awkward.

"I'm so sorry for this, for interrupting you. I can go." she said, and made for the door.

"Oh, no - No, you don't have to leave," he said, hesitantly. Her steps faltered. They stood at opposite ends of the room and looked at each other. Unfortunately for Hermione this put her back in the annoying position of being blinded by the sun.

"I'm sorry for turning up here unannounced like this. I shouldn't have expected you to be free. It was really rude of me." Hermione couldn't make out his expression but she thought she could see his posture relax slightly.

"Not at all. I'm just not used to receiving visitors. And well-" he gestured to the cauldron. "This stage has to be finished tonight, while the waning crescent moon is still up." Hermione nodded, and made her way back over to the side of the table, her heart pounding fast, despite her relief.

"What are you brewing?" Apparently that wasn't what he'd expected her to say next, and he looked down to the cauldron with a frown, as if hoping it would answer for him. Hermione was reminded at once of a child who hadn't done their homework and she smiled to herself, relaxing slightly at the familiar gesture. When predictably it didn't speak for him she went on, "Nightshade, dung beetle shells," her eyes slid to take in other ingredients on the table. "newt liver, leech, lovage, and-" she sniffed the air, "is that mint? And-" she frowned. "Boomslang skin?"

"That was one of the first ingredients I added, _days_ ago," he said, looking to her pleasure, somewhat impressed.

"You don't tend to forget the smell that easily. It tends to... linger," she said with a grimace. "I don't recognise this combination of ingredients from any textbooks. So not one taught at school?"

Malfoy shook his head and moved away from the cauldron. "It's quite obscure. Can I get you a drink?" he asked. "We don't have much, I'm sorry." And he genuinely did look sorry, looking for the whole world as if he expected Hermione to demand champagne or something. "I can offer you tea?"

"Do you have any herbal teas? I've rather overdosed on caffeine today, been in and out of meetings, and of course everyone always insists on coffee," she said, talking so fast that she immediately winced at how frantic she sounded and unconsciously brought a hand up to her head as if to smooth down any possible flyaway hairs. Malfoy caught the gesture and looked like he was fighting a smile.

"Well, I don't have any actual herbal tea but will fresh mint do? I have some left over from the potion. My mother used to take mint steeped in boiling water and she said it was the perfect - _relaxant_," he said, with the hint of a smirk on his lips. Hermione gave a nervous laugh and clasped her hands together to stop them from betraying her again. _Get a grip, Hermione! He's never made you this nervous before!_

"That sounds lovely, thank you." He nodded and walked to the small kitchen area.

Hermione lingered by the table, drawn to a heavy, slightly greasy looking, black leather bound book with 'The Evanescent Elixir' embossed down the spine in faded silver letters. The front of the book was simply adorned by a small, white inked etching of the full moon. Automatically, as was her propensity to, she reached out to run a finger along the cover, but her hand faltered mere centimetres above it. She frowned, for strangely, the book seemed to hold a kind of malevolent enmity against her and she in turn felt inexplicably repulsed by it.

"Dark Magic," she murmured. "Where did you get this book? If you don't mind me asking," she said loudly to Malfoy, while pulling her hand back to her side. She looked suspiciously at the potion which was bubbling away to her right.

He turned slightly to face her from where he was brewing the tea on the worktop. "That was left to me by Severus Snape. He left me most of his private collection of potion books." Hermione pulled her gaze from the book and just caught his slightly wistful smile before he turned back around. "It's not a Dark curse book, Granger, so you can stop looking so worried. I think it still has residues of the compulsion and anti theft spells he must have placed on his collection to keep away prying students. It's pretty handy, keeps Scorp away too." He turned back to face her, holding a saucer and cup in each hand, and gestured towards the sofa.

Hermione nodded, trying not to let his comment bother her. She wasn't _worried _by the thought of Dark Magic... Just correctly wary. Instead of joining him she walked back to the bookshelf and examined some of the books that she had failed to appreciate earlier. It was packed and practically groaning with the weight of a bizarre combination of ancient looking spell books, and the thin, bright spines of children's books. She was disappointed to see no fiction, though perhaps that was kept elsewhere. For some reason she was incredibly curious to know what Malfoy read for entertainment.

With that in mind, Hermione bent down and smiled to herself as her fingers brushed against some of her own well loved childhood favourites on the lowest shelves, imagining him reading to Scorpius, but she frowned as she straightened her legs and her gaze reached the higher ones.

While nothing actually physically _screamed_ at her, she got the same feeling she had when she was in the restricted section of the Hogwarts Library, and in certain places in the Library in Grimauld Place. _And_ the same feeling from the book on the table. Any feeling that caused her to be wary of books however, was something she deeply resented. She turned to Malfoy, who was watching her with that maddening blankness. She also saw, with a resurfacing of her previous guilt, that he'd donned a long sleeved, dark green pullover and his arms and the Dark Mark were once again hidden from view. She swallowed and tried to move on. _What's done is done_. _I'm here now, better make the most of it._

"You should ask Harry if he can give you access to Grimauld Place. Judging by what you've got here, I bet the Black Family Library would hold a lot of interest for you," she said. Malfoy's eyebrows shot up, which was a _sort_ of result. Any expression was better than nothing. "Harry renovated a lot of the house a few years ago, but left the library pretty much untouched. He said caring for the books gives something Kreature to do," she added, rolling her eyes. Malfoy nodded, looking thoughtful.

Hermione shot the books on the top shelves one last look and made her way over to the living room area. She took a seat on the armchair, in that split second feeling too self conscious to sit next to Malfoy on the sofa. "It's quite a collection you've got."

He gave a slightly bitter smirk and passed her her tea. Hermione lifted it to her nose and breathed in deeply. It smelt delicious and the water had turned the vivid green of new spring leaves. "Just what Severus left me and what I managed to salvage from my Mother's house a couple of years ago. It's not much. She sold a lot before I could get out in time. A lot of the more interesting titles ended up in Borgin and Burkes I believe." Hermione dropped the cup to rest on the saucer in her lap and winced in sympathy.

"Why did your Mother sell your books?" she asked without thinking, and immediately regretted.

"She has - some problems." He said with finality. There was a silence that plunged her back into her previous awkward tension. Malfoy however, had leant back into the sofa, looking utterly relaxed and was watching her appraisingly. She squirmed and feeling unable to hold his gaze any longer, shot a glance back at the potion.

"It's called the Baraniuk Potion," he said, his tone giving no clues to its nature.

"I don't know it."

He shook his head, taking a sip from his cup. "I wouldn't expect you to. It's-" he paused, "as I said, it's quite obscure."

"Is that another word for Dark?" she ventured, feeling brave.

"Not intentionally," he said evasively, "I didn't care to look up its Ministry classification." She heard the slight scorn in his voice and her heart sank a little.

"Go on?" she prompted. He looked at her directly, lips held in a tight, tense line and shifted in his seat a little. And Hermione met him head on, daring him to trust her with information on what was no doubt something illicit, the way he was skirting the subject. And no matter what excuse he gave for those books, she _knew _they didn't contain Light Magic. Well, the titles told her that much already.

She prepared herself to hear the worst, _hoping _it wasn't as bad as she presumed. What he was thinking accepting a job like this was beyond her, what with the risks involved, especially to one who had already spent so long in Azkaban. And she couldn't even begin to think about the moral implications. She knew she barely knew him, but to have their differences thrown in her face like this...

And then he smirked, and it was this, and his use of what she had dubbed his 'posh wanker', drawl, that bothered Hermione and made her triumph at gaining his trust feel hollow, rather than the potion itself, for by this point she had been expecting as much. A description of a Dark potion whose effects were horribly sinister delivered in that flat, bored, almost _boastful _voice made her skin crawl.

When he finished speaking he leant back, and surveyed her as if in satisfaction, as if she ought to be impressed. But that didn't make sense, and then something clicked and Hermione realised that of _course_ Malfoy must be expecting her to at the very least be repulsed and at the most, storm from the room in outrage. Judging by his smug look it was as if that was what he _wanted _her to do. She felt frustration bubble within her at his continued attempts to drive her away. All his actions successfully managed to drive away however, were the nerves she'd been experiencing in his presence so far.

She straightened her shoulders and held his gaze with renewed vigour, noticing as she did so that he looked a little less sure of himself. If he wanted her to leave then that was fair enough, but he could bloody well say it out loud if he really meant it. He'd had no trouble with making himself clear in the past.

Harry was right, his behaviour was strange. Hot and cold, one moment to the next, but she wasn't going to let it put her off now she was actually here, talking to him and, if the sudden burst of inspiration she had just experienced over how to react worked, actually _getting _somewhere. Of course she _wanted_ to rebuke him for this, but she knew you had to pick your battles.

"So it works in a similar way to Polyjuice then?" she asked calmly, carefully dissimulating her entire emotional journey into one arched eyebrow, though then she almost ruined it by grinning at the way his face twitched into a frown.

He sat up a little straighter. "You've brewed Polyjuice? Is that how you knew about the Boomslang skin?"

Hermione took a drink of tea to hide her smile, extraordinarily pleased he'd decided to go for that question. Because apart from having no desire to hear more about the Baraniuk potion, she had realised by this point that the only way to get through to Draco Malfoy was by treating him like an actual person, or through surprise. And she was about to steer the conversation in the direction where she could achieve the latter.

"Yes, actually. In second year at Hogwarts." She nearly choked with laughter on her next sip of tea as Malfoy's eyebrows raised dramatically in shock.

"_What?!_" he spluttered. Hermione did laugh then, both in triumph at his reaction, and because she was able to recall the incident where she was turned into a hairy mutant cat girl with fondness rather than horror.

"Yes, though my taking of it was rather, _unsuccessful._"

"Why? Why were you brewing that in second year!? And _where? _How did Severus not catch you?"

She decided to play it up further, leaning forward conspiratorially and talking quietly enough for him to have to lean to catch her words. She was enjoying this. If Malfoy wanted to play games with her, then he would find out she gave as good as she got. "I brewed it in Moaning Myrtles bathroom. And Harry and Ron took it in our quest to find the _real _Heir of Slytherin."

"You didn't. You don't mean-"

Hermione nodded grimly, leaning back and taking a long drink of tea, partly to make him wait for her answer, but also because she had found it to be delicious. "An infiltration to a lake side dungeon common room may have taken place where certain _conversations _may have occurred with a certain Slytherin..."

Malfoy didn't look like he knew whether to be outraged or impressed. "Trust Potter with coming up with something like that."

"Excuse me, It was _my _idea!"

He gaped at her. "Seriously?" Hermione laughed and nodded. Malfoy was looking at her then in clear admiration, and a smile came ruefully to his lips, the first proper one of the day. It wasn't as big or carefree as the smile he had worn as they laughed at Harry's severely inappropriate humour at the weekend, but the difference it made to his face was incredible and it filled Hermione with happy relief. Warmth and animation broke down the rigid lines caused by his high, fine bone structure and she smiled even more widely, abandoning her own posturing in the process.

Still smiling, he said, "you surprise me more and more, Granger. Don't tell me who they were impersonating. I think I can guess. And of course you thought _I _was the Heir?"

She shook her head. "Well, Harry and Ron thought you were, but well, of course _I _knew you weren't."

"Why not?" he asked, looking far to offended to be appropriate.

She laughed. "You were way too obvious. Going round, mouthing off the way you did. And of course part of me knew you'd never really be trying to kill me."

But Malfoy had lost his smile and as she spoke his eyes seemed to cloud over. Hermione knew she'd put her foot in it. "You don't know that," he said quietly. "When push came to shove, maybe not. Well, that's what I have to tell myself. Don't forget the truth of the past, Granger."

Hermione felt her heart sink as she took in Malfoy's complete and sudden change in demeanour. His eyes had darkened to resemble the storm clouds threatening the window and his shoulders were hunched, as if the now torrential rain could reach where they sat. She cursed herself for bringing the conversation round to such a morbid, abrupt finish. _Don_'_t talk about his past if it involves Voldemort with any sort of levity, _she noted to herself for the future, (although such reminders were looking optimistic in light of how badly this conversation had gone so far.) Humour had become her and Harry's way of dealing with things over the years, but of course it was idiotic to expect it was the case with anyone else. Particularly someone who had lost so much, and was only just managing to piece things back together.

Hermione swallowed her guilt and held his troubled gaze, willing him to take her next words seriously. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't joke about things like that. It's incredibly inappropriate."

Malfoy shook his head and gave her a small, wry smile and the tension fizzled away. Hermione felt herself relax again, incredibly relieved she hadn't messed up so irrevocably. "No, I'm sorry, I mean, Merlin, that was twenty years ago. If i can't joke about it by now, when will I? I'm just not used to hearing it I guess. I can barely remember those days anyway, just pieces here and there. Though of course I remember what a nasty little fuck i was." He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it further.

"Eloquently put," Hermione said, causing him to smirk.

"All right, Granger, how would you put it?" She frowned and made an exaggerated humming noise of deliberation and he laughed, "that was rhetorical, please don't answer, I doubt I'd like to hear it. Though you deserve retribution more than anyone else-" his voice trailed away and he looked like he was biting the inside of his cheek, bringing his high cheekbones into sharp relief. His eyes were intense once again and Hermione desperately wished she could hear his thoughts.

When he didn't continue she spoke gently, not wanting to push him back over the brink into the darkness she had just witnessed, but not wanting to lighten the mood either. She felt he was so close, she could almost taste the words- words she'd spent her teenage years dreaming of before giving up on as completely fanciful. "I don't seek retribution, Malfoy. I never have against you. We were just kids, after all."

"We were barely older than Scorp is." He grimaced and shook his head and Hermione felt a pang of disappointment as the moment for apologies passed. "I know he's been in a bit of trouble, but that's nothing to where I was at his age. Already deep in the mire of my father's poison." He brought his hand up to his mouth and squeezed his bottom lip tightly between his finger and thumb, and it was as if he was gazing through Hermione into somewhere else, or some other time. She held her breath, suspecting that he had been lying when he claimed he barely remembered his school days, and that was precisely where he was at present.

"Where is Scorpius?" She asked, wanting to stop him from dwelling on his past for too long. Malfoy's eyes snapped back on hers and he quickly dropped his hand to his cup, as if she'd caught him doing something wrong. Her eyes were drawn to his newly revealed bottom lip, she couldn't help it; It looked pink and soft and ever so slightly swollen from his anxious pinching. Suddenly, without warning, she experienced a very real, searing desire to know what that lip felt like.

"He's round at his friend Jake's. He lives down the hall, and isn't involved in that other group, the troublemakers. Scorp promised me. Anyway, I couldn't ask Potter to watch him _again. _There's a limit to how much you can take from someone without giving something back in return. And it's important he maintains at least one friendship outside the Potter's with them off to Hogwarts on Thursday."

She blinked and dragged her eyes from his mouth to meet his eyes. "He'll make new friends at Burbage, of course," she stammered, unnerved by how distracted she'd just become by his _mouth_, and hoping he hadn't noticed. _Jesus, what was that about?!_

"I hope so." Malfoy frowned and there was a few moments where he just looked at her with a renewed intensity. It made her squirm. "Is that why you're here? Is it about Scorpius?"

Hermione nearly dropped her cup in shock at his sudden and completely unexpected forthrightness and said the first thing that came into her head, her attempts to gather her wits obviously having come to nothing. In any case, her excuses and actual motivations for checking if he was suitable teacher material had been forgotten as soon as he'd opened the door.

"No, actually, I just wanted to see you," and although her answer took her by complete surprise, and Malfoy too judging by the look on his face, she found it was absolutely true. She glared at her lap, cursing herself and dreading his reply, but when it didn't come she forced herself to look up at him. What Hermione saw told her she'd finally achieved what she'd set out to do, but despite all her best efforts, she'd arrived there completely by accident.


	19. A Change of Heart

Chapter 19 - A Change of Heart

Authors note: Various sad and disruptive events happened in my life which took me away from writing for a good few weeks. This had to coincide with a massive struggle to get this chapter right! This is probably the 3rd total re-write... I really hope it's all right! Nearly back on track, but I can't promise a regular schedule yet.

To the reviewer, Guest47: Thank you so so much for your kind review. Receiving that, so out of the blue, gave me a massive boost! Things will all start to become clear soon... I promise!

To avoid confusion - This chapter begins a few hours back in time, and then we pick up from where the last chapter ended.

* * *

_Hermione Granger is before him on the lawn, her back is to him, her neck bent, the sunlight glints in her hair. He reaches her, panicking, comes out with some pointless remark. She turns and her eyes are as glossy and round as pebbles in a stream bed. Her smile is precarious yet holds, but her voice isn't a match for whatever she's feeling. The photograph has done this. To her, and to him. _

Draco eased the pestle into the mortar, gently splitting open the skins of the deadly nightshade berries that sat in the base. The dark juice that oozed out stained the sides of the bowl a vivid crimson. In the three days since Draco first saw the article about Hermione in the Daily Post, his initial confusion and panic had long since been replaced by other, far more nourishing things.

_Blaize Zabini is held down, the nightshade juice is pouring down his forehead, seeping into the creases of skin caused by his screwed up eyes and into the corners of his mouth. His jaw and eyelids are forced open by Draco's wand. His pupils are dilating as his Sclera begin to burn red and the poison is oozing through his teeth, across his tongue and sliding down his throat, leaving a trail of raw, blistered skin. _

He crushed the berries harder, grinding the skins against the ceramic, feeling them disintegrating against the force. The glutinous mixture of raw flesh and juice gave off a sharp, tangy scent.

_"He did. And while I thank you for your invitation, I'm afraid my attendance won't be possible." In his periphery is Hermione's face, which he is both desperate to look at and completely afraid of seeing. Potter rises to the bait, which of course he would, giving Draco the perfect out. But he can't take it, he is painfully aware of Hermione's eyes on him, as revealing and as direct as a Lumos. He breaks, he looks at her._

Regret, frustration and longing coursed through Draco, as sharply as he experienced them when standing in Harry's garden. He ground the pestle into the berries harder, pulverising the remaining skin until the bowl held a smooth, viscous liquid.

_Zabini begins to choke on the poison, his gasps for air are punctuated and stuttered out by wet, violent coughs. His skin turns swarthy, sweat is beading across his brow. He reaches out a hand but it's too late, and although it's hard to tell as it resembles the juice of the nightshade berry, but the liquid bubbling up from his throat is clotted blood, hot, thick and muddied with mucous and tissue hacked up from his dissolving lungs. _

Draco tilted the bowl over the cauldron that held the progressing Baraniuk Potion. The liquid left a trail on the white ceramic like a body dragged across snow.

"Dad, why are you _smiling_ like that?" Scorpius's voice was strangely nasal.

Draco glanced up from the potion and relaxed the muscles in his cheeks. His son was recumbent on the sofa, his trainer clad feet on the wall, his flushed face hung over the side so that he watched Draco work upside down.

"Scorpius, shoes off the wall. You'll give yourself a headache if you lie like that for too long. And you should never ask someone why they're smiling."

Scorpius gave a huff, but instead of sitting up he stretched his arms back over his head and lay his hands palm down on to the floor.

"Scorpius -" Draco warned, but the boy ignored him and with a big grunt of exertion, pushed his feet off the back of the sofa with enough momentum to propel his weight on to his hands. The handstand held for a moment, wavered, and then his feet crashed to the floor with an impact that shook the flat.

With a prickle of stress, Draco pursed his lips against an automatic reprimand and looked back down to the potion. Denying his son a reaction was far greater punishment, albeit perhaps too subtle for a child to grasp.

He began to count in his head in time with the motion of his hand, fruitlessly trying to lose himself once more in the brewing, but had only reached the number three before, predictably, "I'm so _bored," _cried in the most dramatic tone possible reached his ears from the floor. His hand clenched into a fist around the stirring rod. "_Dad_!"

Draco sucked air deep into his lungs, relaxed his hand and looked back up. Scorpius was watching him with eyes that were stretched beseechingly wide and with lips held in a little pout.

"What?"

"_Please _can we go out?"

"Scorp, I've _told _you-"

"_Harry _doesn't brew horrible potions."

"This is the last day Scorp, I promise. Tomorrow you'll have me all to yourself." Despite the near hourly frequency with which Draco was subjected to this cycle of childish behaviour, and despite the focus the brewing required, his son's words still managed to arouse a horrible amount of guilt within him. "You do _want _to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow, yes?" he asked, exasperated and desperate for some reprieve.

"You know I do!"

"Then you know I need to finish this first. _Please _Scorp, please let me get on. I need to concentrate. Go and read, or do some drawing?" Scorpius scowled and finally arrived at the question Draco was dreading.

"Can I go round Al's?"

"_May _I, and no." Draco had to raise his voice against the instant sounds of complaint, "I've told you time and time again, you'll see him tomorrow night. Please get off the floor and stop making that noise."

"Fine, _please _father, _may _I go to Jakes?"

Draco glanced at the pile of mint that lay on the table to his side. The leaves had to be precisely sliced along their veins to release their magical property. A couple of millimetres out and they would be worse than useless. He shut his eyes momentarily and gave in. At least Scorp wasn't asking if he could go down and play with his other friends on the square. Draco had spotted them earlier through the window, throwing cans at cars as they drove by.

"Yes. But Scorp, be safe?"

The boy caught his tone and paused on his mad scramble to the front door. He looked round and nodded, his expression solemn. "We won't leave the flat, I _promise_." Draco gave him a strained smile in reply his son was gone.

The resulting silence however, did little to comfort Draco and as he fell into the repetitive actions of slicing and stirring, his attention returned once again to swing between Hermione and Zabini with the regularity of a metronome. Although now there was no small boy to distract him. He shouldn't have snapped at him, he shouldn't have been so terse... He shouldn't have let him back out into the muggle world. He should have just let him go to Harry's...

No, Draco wasn't to blame, it was all Zabini's fault, the _whole _lot of it. No, he shouldn't have taken the order, he _knew _that, but if Zabini had never decided to give into whatever sick little thrill he gained by tricking him, then Draco wouldn't here, sequestered in this shitty flat, and instead could be out enjoying the penultimate day of the summer holidays, in the same way, Scorp was repeatedly reminding him, Harry Potter and his sons were. _Why _couldn't Zabini just have left them alone? Why the _fuck_ did he have to disrupt their lives?

An image of Zabini, giving him that disgusting wink came to mind. _"Might be something of _interest_ in there about your little muggle-born..." _His crooning, sing-song voice crawled within Draco's brain; an echo of his camaraderie that had been as both revolting and pointless as being forced to drink an enemy's luke warm saliva. At least there hadn't been an audience to witness his emasculation.

_Might be something of interest for you in this glass, Blaise, if you'd care to take a toast. Oh yes, drink up, something very special in there to celebrate to our new partnership, whatever the fuck that meant! Bottoms up!_

Draco took a deep breath and picked up the knife. As fun as it was to fantasise about murdering the man, he knew his _actual_ revenge would have to be far more subtle than straight up poisoning. He took an individual mint leaf from the pile and placing it on the wooden board before him, brought the blade down to rest at the base of its main vein. He slid the knife along, splitting the leaf perfectly in two. He then systematically ran it over each smaller vein in turn until it was cut into tiny strips.

The fresh scent of mint rose and enveloped him. It was instantly transforming, stimulating the purest form of nostalgia and calming Draco in such a way that planning murder, with its tendency to quicken the blood, could not. At once he was not in the flat, but was sitting in the balmy conservatory at Malfoy Manor in the summer holidays, long before the Dark Lord had returned. He could feel the sunlight through the glass and a breeze on his skin that carried with it the fragrance of cut grass and mint tea from his mother's cup. Tea that sloshed over the sides of the china as Narcissa shook with laughter at whatever story Draco had been entertaining her with. The pride he felt at that small achievement. Memories like that were as precious a commodity as Galleons these days.

Draco thought again of Granger on the lawn and how he spoke to her and Harry and felt the same, sharp prickle of regret. But it had been the _right _thing to do in light of the photograph of her in The Daily Post. Through all of that initial panic, he had kept a level head enough to have got out of there in the least painful and fastest way he knew how. He could be proud of that, at least.

He could recall the photo exactly, the image exposed into his mind as if that afternoon at Harry's his very retinas had been coated in photographic emulsion. Draco imagined himself standing just out of the frame, Scorp no doubt clutched behind his back. How close had the editor at the paper been to publishing the whole image? Who else knew about it, bar the photographer themselves? What was the paper _doing_?

Draco fought a sudden urge to stab the table with the knife. He felt so fucking _helpless._ There had been an infinite number times over his adult life when Draco had yearned for what he had physically lost. For the comfort and beauty of the manor, for the vaults in Gringotts and the freedom that wealth gave, for _everything_ the Ministry and then Azkaban took away. But _rarely_ had he felt so frustrated and cheated as he did now that he hadn't been able to grow into the type of man, that as a Pure-blood and a Malfoy, should have been his right. His father, his grandfather, their ancestors, all had been able to protect those who they wished, had been able to wield influence and power in a way that could only be realised by Draco in his _dreams_.

His father would _never _have been so utterly helpless in the face of such a small time tabloid. He would have known the right people to ask, or _persuade _into talking. He would have taken things into his own hands easily, with brutal efficiency. He would have known who was behind the newspaper smear campaign against Hermione, or perhaps even orchestrated it himself. But the only luxury available to Draco was his over-active imagination.

_Someone_ in the press knew she'd been out socialising with a Death Eater. The Daily Post were clearly waiting for something. More of a story? More evidence that Granger's moral standards were slipping? He could imagine the type of things they'd write, what the public would read into the full photograph: At the start of August she's fucking muggles, then by the end, consorting with Death Eaters. _Disgraceful_.

But he didn't know who that someone was and he couldn't find out, it was hopeless. It was over. He'd made sure of that in the garden. It had been the only thing he could do, the only power he had: to walk away. The papers wouldn't get any more photographs or story to work with, as he wouldn't be seen with Hermione Granger ever again.

The scent of mint fluttered about Draco's nostrils and pulled at his memories, but he was beginning to experience immunity to it. A heaviness clouded the edges of his thoughts, dulling the residual anger. His arm worked the knife in relentless, precise strokes; a wafer of leaf occasionally spiralled to the floor as it got picked up by a breeze from the window. Hermione reverberated through his mind, the one vibrant aspect of his thoughts, refusing to leave him alone. He _needed_ to let go of whatever it was keeping her there. For his own sanity.

But Draco couldn't, and though it was painful to admit to, as it showed exactly how weak and selfish he was, he knew exactly why. It was the tiny, pathetic, fragment of hope he harboured, that imbued all of his thoughts about the witch with the stubbornness that made them cling to him like a cursed bludger.

He just hadn't been _that _rude to her in Harry's garden. It was weak and selfish because he'd still been thinking more about himself than her. How could he bring himself to cause more hurt, when she'd been on the very edge of breaking down? And more shamefully and even harder to admit: what she would have thought of him, if he had?

Draco thought he saw more than just shock in her eyes when he finally met them; concern maybe? There still might be a chance for them yet -

_Them._ As friends?

As anything - _more_? Draco would have laughed out loud if the action wouldn't have seemed so mad, standing alone, laughing to himself, mood swinging violently from one humiliating thought to another. But he needed to physically express how idiotic he was being. How completely pointless and destructive those kinds of thoughts were. Granger had tolerated his presence because of Harry, because of Scorp. He doubted that she'd even noticed anything was wrong with him at all, when he left the Potter's on Saturday. If anything, just that he was back to normal.

_Thank Merlin Scorp isn't here. If he thought my smile was alarming, what would he think of me now? _he thought, easing his face out of its twisted grimace.

* * *

So, when Draco answered the persistent knocking of his front door, and found Hermione Granger standing there in the flesh, giving him that ludicrously wide smile, it was so incongruent with his expectation of what his afternoon would contain, momentarily it felt like he'd subconsciously conjured her there himself, simply by the tenacity of his thoughts. It threw Draco completely, and it was because of this, he told himself minutes later when his brain had adjusted to the new situation, why he didn't in that moment tell her he was too busy and she couldn't come in.

He should have done; there was no point drawing out the inevitable conflict and accusation. He stood at the cauldron adding the beetle shells, collecting himself, delaying and dreading her confrontation over his conspicuous absence in the photograph. She had worked it out, recognised her outfit from that day, recognised the shops, what she was mouthing. Of course she had, this was _Granger. _At least now it would be out in the open, and perhaps he could give an excuse for how he'd behaved at Harry's.

But amazingly, she didn't bring it up. It was inconceivable that she wouldn't if she had known, so what the hell was she doing here? He tried to relax, to enjoy her company but the question gnawed at his mind, and his previous promise to himself to retain distance from her was ever constant in his head. He felt uneasy that _he _knew about the photograph and she didn't, and therefore began to experience an unpleasant guilt at his involuntary complicity with the photographer.

Finally, after the conversation had made its lurching course between their transparent attempts at distraction, evasion of real issues, feigned reactions, and eventually to something slightly more sincere, she asked about his son.

Draco had enough of the games so with that opening, he just went for it. He was enjoying their conversation, but he couldn't continue on in ignorance of her motives indefinitely. Slytherins could be blunt too, _particularly_ if the situation called for it. The trick was making the delivery seem as unplanned as possible.

"Is that why you're here? Is it about Scorpius?" A loud clink as her cup found its way abruptly to its saucer almost brought a smirk to his lips. _Success at last. _

"No, actually, I just wanted to see you."

Draco gazed at Hermione in surprised silence, and she looked back at him for a few moments before dropping her eyes to her cup. Draco searched her face for some sign that she was lying, or acting coy as an attempt at manipulation, but he found nothing. She was frowning gently, lips delicately working as if she was struggling to find words. _She's here, just to see me?_

A blush was rising quite violently up her neck and spreading across her cheeks and the sight of it brought a smile to his lips. For her words and her own reaction to them were so clearly unfeigned, and so sweet and delightful because of that, he couldn't help himself.

She glanced back up, eyes widening slightly at his expression, her shoulders relaxed from where she'd been holding them tensely to her neck, and she smiled tentatively back.

In that moment, it was as if they had been drenched by the Thief's Waterfall that lay in the heart of Gringott's, and the contamination that their previous masquerades and manipulations had placed on his mind and vision were stripped away, leaving nothing but this illuminating nugget of honesty she had offered him. The constant agitation in Draco's mind that had been building since he set eyes on that photograph was blissfully silenced. He saw Hermione clearly and fully for the first time that evening.

Sitting there in a cream silk blouse, her dark blue pencil skirt ridden ever so slightly up over her knees without her noticing, that delicious flush on her cheeks and a smile that seemed to be growing more bold by the second, he let go the last dregs of suspicion and appreciated her beauty for the first time since she'd healed his throat. It took his breath away_. _

She was from another world, as separate from his as the divide between shadow and light. Her skin and hair was washed a gentle gold by the rain filtered glow of the setting sun and she outshone everything around her. In contrast, the threadbare armchair she was sat on looked even more old and decrepit than usual, he could see scuffs and marks on the floor that he hadn't noticed before and a stain on the wall behind her head. But still she sat there, oblivious to it all, smiling at him, telling him she was there, _just to see him._ And strangely, absurdly, despite it making no logical sense whatsoever, he believed her.

"I mean, I wanted to check you were okay, after Saturday. You left so suddenly-" she bit her lip and the smile was shuttered out. She ran her eyes up and down him as if she was scared he would throw her concern back in her face.

Draco experienced a swell of strong shame at her assumption and his recent decision to drive her away from him clashed with that distant and nearly forgotten one he had made an age before, to fulfil the _positive _expectations she had of him. And his more recent oath to return the kindness she'd been showing him and his son.

He replayed his awful performance of explaining the Baraniuk potion. In the moment, it had seemed like a chance to alienate her further, to right the wrong that he had done in leading her on to think he was still approachable, but it hadn't worked. He had assumed it meant she _really _wanted something from him, and was willing to overlook his supposed immorality. But in light of this revelation...

The silence ticked by, seconds passing with the significance of seasons, forcing Draco onwards to a decision. She had just given him another chance to say some cutting remark, something that would sting even more than usual, by attacking the vulnerability she exposed by being so honest. She would be gone for good, and he could continue living on in the knowledge that his presence wasn't going to fuck up any more lives by association.

But if he was being truly noble, truly selfless, shouldn't he just be honest about the photograph? Rather than his half hearted attempts at acting like his old self, which had proven to be completely ineffectual due to him simply not being able to _help _but counteract them. He'd offered her tea, laughed at her jokes, been on the _cusp _of allowing her to steer him into some ineffective apology. (And thank Merlin he hadn't.) By being honest, by telling her that things were about to get a whole lot worse for her professionally if she continued to draw him into her life like this would be the most effective way of ensuring her leave and future absence.

She would never look at him like this again, never smile at him without her own suspicions lurking in the back of her mind that he had been part of some bigger plot to destabilise her. He should have told her by now, should have told her the very moment he realised it himself at the Potters. It was too late, he'd done the damage.

So he smiled weakly, his heart racing and said, "I'm sorry about that. I suddenly realised I needed to get back, to this-" he gestured at the potion. She nodded slowly, and hopefully it was only due to the time it had taken for him to answer, but she looked unconvinced so he found himself speaking again; it was as if he couldn't bear any longer to be the cause of her confusion. "You see, the time just ran away while I was at Potter's, and completing certain steps as the moon wanes is essential for the success of this potion-"

"I get it, you wouldn't want the thoughts of the _victim_ to be undecipherable." Her voice was bitter and Draco winced.

"You know that it isn't for my use," he said quietly, unable to hold her eyes, alarmed by how easily her words had cut into him. He _knew _he had been right to doubt the sincerity of her initial, cool reaction to the potion. However, the knowledge didn't bring him any satisfaction now.

"I know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" she sighed and he glanced up to see her watching him. She looked incredibly lost so he tried to smile.

"It's fine. I know what I've got myself into."

Draco took a sip from his cooling tea. The taste was calming and evoked that familiar bitter-sweet nostalgia. He blinked and focussed on the witch before him. She was here, now, and he was still so easily dragged into past. He _needed_ to focus on the present.

Hermione's eyes were bright, searching. What did she want from him? Nothing he could easily name. What did she expect he could give her? Her face was so open to him, so trusting, he found all he wanted to do was to give her the truth. But he _couldn't_ tell her the real reason he'd left so suddenly, not yet. But the lies were leaving a bitter taste in his mouth even the tea couldn't eradicate.

So he opened his mouth and started to talk, settling instead to offer her other truths, rather than elaborating on the fiction he'd just begun.

"I couldn't turn down the job. I didn't have a choice. My mother -" he hesitated before swallowing his nerves and carrying on, "I told you my mother has some problems. Well, what I meant was that when I got out of Azkaban I found she'd become mostly a recluse. She drinks, she's depressed, and she'd sold a lot of our remaining possessions." Draco took a pause to breathe, incredibly relieved that Hermione didn't seem the type to indulge in false noises of sympathy, remaining silent instead as he spoke.

He went on, encouraged. "You probably know the ministry took our fortune, the Manor. Scorp and I, we _just _scrape by. Between trying to bring him up, and caring for my mother - and I really have _no _idea what I'm doing with either, when the order arrived I just had to take it. The money was too good to refuse." He stopped talking to take another sip of tea, his throat was oddly dry.

Hermione had remained as still as could be throughout his admission, as if he was a wild animal she didn't want to startle. He smiled gently at her, to try and get her to relax, to let her know he wasn't about to bolt again. Rather than frightening him, it was proving to be unexpectedly cathartic to talk like this.

"I've been applying for jobs nearly constantly since Azkaban, always without exception being rejected, and so this job was a godsend. Scorp and I were just on the brink. Do you understand now how I can so easily overlook the nature of the potions? I _have _to provide for him as his father. I can't fail him."

She nodded. "I do, I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions, that was wrong of me." Relief warmed him. "This order, did you advertise?"

Draco smirked bitterly. "Well this is the strange part. I did, but months ago." And this was the hard part, how much dare he tell her? Acting like an idiotic Gryffindor had got him in this mess with Zabini in the first place, rushing headlong into a apparently fortuitous situation without giving it due thought or preparation. But here was Hermione, who had been displaying all the attributes of a Slytherin right up until the point she'd told him, _I_'_m just here to see you, _and had completely disarmed him with her honesty. Inspired, he took a deep breath, ignoring the screaming voices of caution against exposing such a weakness and dove off the edge, his heart pounding.

"The order, however, was placed by Blaise Zabini, something I wasn't aware of until I dropped off the first batch." He let out a long, shaky breath and Hermione frowned.

"Blaise Zabini. Your brother in law, right?" Draco nearly laughed, feeling light headed. He couldn't _believe_ he was doing this. What was happening to him? The urge to tell her and to share his problems was far greater than the one to keep them secret.

"Yes. Scorpius' uncle by his marriage to Astoria's sister, Daphne Greengrass. Her parents were offering me financial aid to help with Scorpius up until recently, which stopped when I decided to cut ties with them once their _insistence_ that I send him to Hogwarts turned into the threat of blackmail if I didn't comply." He placed his hand on the sofa arm and spread his fingers out, frowning as he replayed the conversation they'd had earlier in the summer that terrible last visit.

"Zabini is extremely financially successful, I believe he took the opportunity of so many of the Pure-blood families destruction or disgrace in the last war to get ahead in the vacuum they left in society. Anyway, he's been rubbing that fact in my face ever since I got out, and positively _relishes _the fact the Malfoys are so destitute of anything we once held so dear. You probably didn't realise, since Slytherins never conduct themselves with anything less than complete equanimity with each other in public, but Zabini and I had a sort of, _rivalry,_ at Hogwarts." It had hardly the type he'd had with Harry, but more one of popularity and a competition of who could get furthest with the most girls. One Draco had always been winning, right up until certain events of fifth year took place and the rivalry turned sour as Zabini refusedto openly join the Dark Lord, despite his personal views. It had been something Draco had taken very personally.

"So why would he want to help you?"

"Well that's just it. I don't believe he is. It could merely be that he's tricked me into this merely to give his ego an even bigger boost - see how low I can go, how much risk I can put myself in just for what he considers pocket change."

"You don't think he wants to get you in trouble? Put you back in Azkaban?" she said with such overt concern Draco wanted to reach out to console her.

But instead he shook his head, held his fingers tightly into the synthetic upholstery of the sofa and said, "Perhaps, but I don't think so. I'm delivering the Baranuik potion to him tomorrow evening, so I'm hoping to find out more then. I didn't conduct myself with proper, _dignity, _during our last meeting, which I'm going to correct this time."

She glanced over to the potion, looking incredibly nervous. "I don't like it. You're putting yourself in great risk..." she said, trailing off when she looked back at him and caught his expression. She frowned. "It's not funny, this is serious-"

He held up a hand, his palm open to face her. "Of course it is. But, I've faced far worse than Zabini in the past."

Hermione's expression cleared and she dropped her gaze and ran the tip of her index finger round in gentle circles over the back of her other hand. Draco's own hand tingled as he imagined what that felt like. "I know you have, of course," she said, glancing back up to look at him. "I'm still worried though. Are you _sure _he's not just doing it to help you out? He might feel a responsibility to Scorpius, and this was the only way he thinks he can get through."

"I can't rule that out, of course," he said, deeply affected by her words. She was _worried _about him? But he marched on with the conversation before he could give in to analysing what that meant. "But when dealing with people like him it's incredibly unwise to expect the best from them. You're just asking for trouble. I'm probably reading too much into all of this, but I just feel there's something else going on."

Hermione grimaced. "So you're certain he wants something else from you other than just the potions?"

"Do I sound paranoid? He gave me this whole spiel about getting me back into society, setting me up connections. It was repulsively transparent. I mean -" he laughed mirthlessly before continuing, "what could I offer him? He wants for nothing. But he's got to get something out of it, and our family honour is _nothing _to do with it. If you knew Zabini you'd know that, he is the least altruistic person alive. There was more though, it was just the _way _he was acting. He was taking _great _pleasure in boasting about how he's doing business with muggle-borns, I mean, I think it was the first time I'd ever even heard him say the words _muggle-born _in my life. I just can't accept that this is just simple case of him exhibiting his money and power." He paused, and then said quietly, "It was almost like he was testing me."

Hermione had gone incredibly still as she looked at him and he froze, waiting for her reaction. Had he gone too far? Over stepped their boundaries? It just felt so brilliant to get this off his chest. When she spoke it was slowly but with enough care to let Draco know that the silence had only been due to her really choosing her words.

"I don't think you're being paranoid. Sometimes the most unlikely, ridiculous seeming explanations are turn out to be the correct ones. If you suspect something, there's no harm in listening to your instincts, caution never hurts. In the recent past, he's been openly prejudiced?"

"Yes, utterly."

"Well, that certainly is suspicious. Perhaps he _is_ testing you to see where your loyalties lie. I think your decision to send Scorp to my school will have confused him a great deal." Hermione bit her lip and flicked her gaze up and down him, as she had done earlier when nervous about his reaction. Her voice was cautious when she asked: "and you said you're going to be acting with more dignity this time? What do you mean?"

Draco shifted in his seat. _Act a bit more like my old self? _he thought, but couldn't bring himself to say. Instead he smiled, to let her know her question hadn't gone too far, and said,"I flew off the handle somewhat in our last meeting. Once I calmed down I made a snap decision to encourage his perception of me that his deceit had provoked, so I exaggerated the show of my outrage some what." He shrugged at her raised eyebrows. "It wasn't hard. It was very accurate to my genuine feelings."

"But that didn't get you what you wanted?" Hermione had leant forward to the edge of her chair, each hand grasping a knee.

Draco shook his head, momentarily amused by how intensely she was questioning him, by how _interested _she seemed by it all. "No. He didn't tell me the real reason why he's going to so much trouble. I don't think he will, not until I make him believe he's able to."

Hermione sat back, nodding slowly, speaking so quietly, it was almost to herself. _"_So you'll try and lull him into a false sense of security, by letting him know that you never really changed at all, which _hopefully _will result in him letting you into his confidences." Draco winced and remained silent. The plan sounded clumsy when described in blunt terms like that, and he knew it didn't paint him in a very flattering light. "I see. Maybe it's not my place to say this but, can't you just walk away?"

Draco shook his head slowly. "It's- it's not just about working out what he really wants, or even getting all the money. It's more than that." He sighed, unable to find the words the express how deeply and gravely insulting Zabini's deceit was. How his actions would have been utterly unspeakable if Draco still held his place in society. "If anyone dared to do such a thing to my father-" his voice faltered as Hermione's face became cold, but he pushed on with a low voice, "then there wouldn't have been much left of their life after he had been finished them."

"But Lucius Malfoy was-"

"I know," he interrupted her, "an evil, twisted man, buthe _was_ right about this. No one should get away with doing something like this to-" he wanted to say, a Malfoy, but instead said, "to me and Scorp."

"And you don't think Zabini knows this? How badly you'd take the deception? He must believe he has something over you, some kind of leverage to stop you from taking... any revenge."

Draco frowned. "I'd thought he'd assumed I'd let go of all the old ways, just like I appeared to have done with everything else. And to most, what he's done won't even seem that bad. Perhaps even reasonable. I certainly wasn't going to accept his charity willingly. I _did _manage to appear to get my behaviour under control by the end of the last meeting, I hope he thinks I've got over it. I mean, he _knows _I'm desperate for money. He must think I'm willing to swallow that pride to get it."

"But isn't that a bit of a risky assumption? Are you _sure? _What about the potions? Aren't they quite incriminating?_"_

Draco dropped her gaze under the guise of having to think about it. The potions weren't _technically_ illegal to brew. He'd checked, despite what he told her earlier...

"Malfoy," Hermione interrupted his thoughts and he focussed on her pinched smile, "If you're going to go down this route, make him underestimate you."

"A Gryffindor giving a Slytherin tips on how to manipulate?" he teased, feeling irrationally light hearted after talking about such a heavy subject. Hermione snorted, shaking her head.

"Sorry, I know. I can tell you know what you're doing. It's just it's something that works for me. People have underestimated me my entire life, for the obvious reasons. A man with an inflated ego like Zabini is much more likely to expose himself to danger by giving you information that he thinks will go over your head."

"Noted. Thank you," he said, offering a smile. She returned it and held his eyes for a moment before glancing to the side and then down to her watch. She shifted in her seat, as if gathering herself to rise, but before she could, Draco found himself talking again, suddenly desperate to keep her presence before him. "I think that's enough about me." Hermione glanced back up, frowning. "You said you wanted to check if I was all right on Saturday, but what about you?" He spoke slowly, hoping she saw enough sincerity within him to share as he had with her. "You were upset about something. It wasn't just that article, was it?"

Hermione's eyes widened and Draco saw her hands clench around her cup. Her mouth opened and then she bit her lip and began to examine the remnants of her tea, as if the leaves would hold the answer.

"Well the article was a part of that. I _can't_ believe you saw it..." She muttered, her voice trailing away. There was a moment of silence before she glanced back up and continued talking in a stronger voice, as if she needed convincing as much as him over what she was saying. "I mean, of course I know what the papers write is all rubbish. So, no you're right. It wasn't just about that." But she didn't go on to say anything else.

"Come on, Granger. I didn't just bear my heart to you just for you to remain tight lipped. Slytherin, remember? It's got to be a fair exchange." He quipped. She smiled weakly and looked away. Draco scowled to himself while she fiddled with the seam on her skirt. Would she do it? Did she trust him as much as he found he trusted her?

"Okay..." She took a deep breath and said, "I spoke to my parents on the phone." Her jaw was set slightly defiantly and Draco frowned in incomprehension.

"I don't understand. Both your parents? Did something happen to them?"

Hermione let out her held breath and shook her head with a smile that was more a grimace. She finally looked up at him. "No, absolutely nothing. They're both in great health, _now_. The thing is, I don't have the best relationship with them." As she spoke she rubbed a hand roughly across her cheeks and under her eye. "It's utterly ridiculous. Especially with what you were saying about your mum... I mean, I'm incredibly lucky, my parents are both alive and undamaged..."

Draco kept quiet, deciding to employ the same tactics she had used when he was on the cusp of telling her his secrets. It seemed to work. After a few moments of silence where Hermione stared past his head and into the now deepening twilight out the window, she finally spoke. And her voice was troubled and quiet.

"I - I Obliviated them during the war. Gave them false memories, new lives, eradicated any hint of my existence from their minds, in order to protect them. And it worked; the Death Eaters never found them." She met his eyes and he nodded. He'd heard the results of those failed missions to locate the Grangers from his bedroom. The screams wrenched from lips twisted from the Cruciatus carried further and lasted much longer than any other screams of pain.

She continued, thankfully unaware of his thoughts. "After the war I tracked them down, returned their memories to them, but - but things have never been the same. Well, in fact things hadn't been great since the very moment I got my Hogwarts letter all those years ago." Her voice strengthened, gaining in confidence as she spoke. "I was so grateful to find out I was a witch, so _desperate_ to be in the wizarding world, as the years went by I spent less and less time in the muggle one, with them. Holidays passed by without seeing them or my grandparents, my aunts, uncles or cousins. Without giving it conscious thought I dismissed my muggle family in the very same way that wizards like _you_ looked down on me. What a _joke." _The confidence in her voice had by now given way to dripping revulsion. Draco released a long held breath, his fingers twitching uselessly, arms held rigid to his side.

"In the end I don't think they ever forgave me for what I did to them, both abandoning them, _and _the Obliviation. I was their only child. They loved me." Her voice broke on the word, but she pushed on, as brave and as committed to seeing her admission through to the end as only Hermione Granger could be.

"I didn't ask their permission, I knew they wouldn't agree. So I went behind their backs." Her mouth twisted into a sneer and the expression was frighteningly out of place on her face. "I was a complete _coward._" She spat out the word. "Better to creep up behind them than to see their eyes as I betray them and disappoint them once again." Her hands were screwed up, clasping the cup so hard Draco thought it might crack. She was looking at him, but with such a frightening intensity he hoped it wasn't him she was seeing at all.

"I _know _my mum hasn't forgiven me." And then she blinked, focussed her attention back on him and was vulnerable once again, untwisting before his eyes from the grip of that long festering bitterness and anger. "And the worst thing is, there are people like you, people like Harry, like Ginny, like so many who lost family in the war, yet here I am, who lost no one, yet I'm unable to take the steps to rebuild those bridges."

She paused and continued even more quietly, "I disgust myself, I really do. But I just can't move on. And the more years go past, the worse it gets. Working at Burbage helps, _ensuring _parents are more involved with their kids... That making the choice to embrace magic doesn't mean abandoning your family or the muggle world. But I still feel so _guilty, _whenever I think about how long its been since I saw them, or how I can count our phone calls this year on my hands, or- I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I can't believe I'm going on about this." She screwed up her face and stared into her lap and it was all Draco could do not to cross the room and sweep her into his arms. To absorb her pain. Or take her by the shoulders and shake sense into her.

He chose his words incredibly carefully, having long realised that never before had anyone opened up so much of themselves so willingly to him. He was on new ground here, and had to tread softly, lest he upset her further.

"Granger, it's never too late," She shook her head slightly and continued to stare at her cold cup of tea in her lap. But he wasn't deterred. "And you're _not_ a joke. The biggest joke was people like _me, _nearly following a raving lunatic to the grave,_" _ She did look up at him then, wincing slightly and he gave her a wry smile. Oh yes, he remembered the _exact_ words she'd thrown at him, nearly a whole month ago, and evidently she did too. But that was just another instance of bad judgement she had to own up to, and he hoped she understood that, and didn't think he was rubbing it in her face. "I can't give you any words that tell you how you behaved, or what you did was okay, was justified, as it _wasn't." _Her eyebrows shot up, but he pressed on, fervently hoping he wasn't demolishing her self esteem even further.

_"But, _you need to stop punishing yourself. Otherwise you'll never get anywhere. How do you think I've survived? I bet you've never done anything like that, didn't imagine that there was a side of you that was capable. But we're _all_ capable of doing morally reprehensible things to protect the ones we love. And we're _all_ capable of getting swept up in ideas that make us feel better about ourselves without realising what's going on until it's too late."

He pointed to himself with raised eyebrows and she sat up a little straighter. "But I'm moving on, finally. I hope. It's not easy, but until you accept that not everything you've done in life was noble or good, and that's _fine _as long as you recognise it and make steps to change, you're never going to be able to get over it. It's incredibly painful, when you realise you're not who you thought you were, but you need to do it none the less. It doesn't mean you're any less of yourself than you were before, but just you recognise your flaws and can then make moves to overcome them.

"This probably may not help, but as a parent, I can say with complete confidence that nothing Scorpius could do would make me stop loving him. Your mother may still resent what you did, but I bet she still wants you back in her life more than _anything_."

She nodded and gave him the smallest of smiles. Draco relaxed slightly, relieved he hadn't appeared to have made her feel any worse. Hopefully at least, he'd made her feel a little better, or at least tipped her in the direction of being able to make _herself _feel better in time. They sat in silence, but it wasn't awkward. It stretched before them as peacefully as a winter's beach at low tide.

"Well, I better be going, it's getting late. I've got lots of work to do tonight," Hermione finally said, breaking the spell. Draco blinked, suddenly realising they were sat in near darkness, the sun having long since set. The only light filtering through was from the streetlight outside and the flickering of the flame beneath the potion.

"Right, of course. Me too." They both stood, and the awkwardness Draco had felt when she first arrived returned to him in full force. He felt suddenly as if his limbs were constructed from flobber worms spellotaped together and as he walked her to the door he felt certain he was about to trip over his feet. He reached past her to undo the latch, his nerves on fire, and her shoulder brushed against his chest. Even through the fabric the contact sent a jolt straight to his heart and he felt it give an uncomfortably strong beat, as if palpitating.

The electric light in the hallway was garish after the darkness of the flat, but did nothing to dim Hermione's beauty as she stood looking up at him. She shifted on her feet, brought up a hand to tuck a smooth lock of hair behind an ear in what he was fast recognising as a sign of nerves, and smiled sheepishly. She took a deep breath and he was reminded again of Scorpius, but this time when the boy was about to tell him something he wouldn't like, and so Draco steeled himself as she said in a rush, "Harry would be really happy if you came to his party tomorrow." She paused, that hand darted to her hair once again, before saying quietly and more slowly, "I mean to say - I would really like to see you again too."

Draco leant against the doorframe and folded his rubbery arms against his chest, lest they take on a mind of their own and do something ridiculous, like touch her. He let out a deep breath. The party he'd decided not to go to. To risk being seen and photographed by the same person who leaked the photo of her and the muggle earlier in the summer...

She was watching him closely, delicately biting into her pink bottom lip. Almost imperceptibly, the tip of her tongue darted out and swept along her lips before Draco realised she was still waiting for his answer. He dragged his eyes from her mouth and cleared his throat. "Well my meeting with Zabini is at seven..."

She nodded and looked down, leaving Draco feeling inexplicably crushed, as if _she _had turned _him _down. But then she glanced quickly back up and raised her eyebrows. "You can still come after. It's because of the other guests, isn't it?"

Draco grimaced. She _must _know the risks. She knew what she was doing. It _had _happened to her before, after all. "Well, I'd be lying if I said I would ever willingly offer myself up to a Gryffindor love in of the type Potter no doubt throws." He gave her a half hearted attempt at his old sneer and Hermione burst out in a surprised sort of laughter. After the gravity of the conversation that had just taken place, despite how unexpectedly natural it had been, it was a relief to hear and lightened the mood between them considerably. Draco felt slightly less encumbered by his ungainly body parts.

"It won't be that bad. I'll be your body-guard. They'll have to get through me." she said with a smirk, bringing her wand up to tap against her left hand. "Only insults and mockery allowed. No making up, apologies, or soppy Gryffindor stuff of any kind." She raised an eyebrow and twirled the wand between her fingers. Draco grinned, enjoying the sight. It was almost - sexy. "What do you say?"

_How can I resist you? _ "Gods forbid it ever coming to that. But -" he paused and then his tongue was forming words and letting them fall from his mouth before he could stop or even _think _about them, " in that case, I'll willingly reconsider my position based on your generous offer." Her face broke into a big guileless smile, despite his garbled nonsense, and Draco returned it feeling lightheaded once more. She then began to slowly walk backwards away from him down the hall, still smiling.

"Night, Granger, get home safely," he called out.

"See you tomorrow, Malfoy. Good luck with the meeting. I really hope you manage to get somewhere and get some answers. He's made a _big_ mistake. And thanks for tonight. I - It was great." And with that she backed into shadow, span on the spot and Disapperated with a tiny crack. Draco blinked and shut the door, only realising he was still smiling to himself several whole minutes later.

He should be worried, stressed, planning how he was going to handle Zabini. He should be cursing himself for so easily he gave up his plan, after just a bit of positive attention. Debating when would be the best time to tell her about the full photograph. Berating himself for sharing with her as much as he had done. But none of it seemed to matter as much as it should. All he could think about was Hermione's words, her smile, her eyes and her body telling him that she wanted _him. _


	20. Seduction

Chapter 20 - Seduction

"Do you know Blaise Zabini?"

Orla glanced up with dark ringed eyes from where she was gathering her papers on the other side of Hermione's desk. "Know him? Slytherin, pure-blood, your year?" Hermione nodded. "Of course I don't know him. We don't exactly move in the same circles." She stood, stifling a yawn with her fist. "Why?"

"Just, you know, curiosity." Hermione said, reclining into her chair. "Just wondering what he ended up doing."

Orla must have caught something in Hermione's voice that she'd failed to disguise under poorly feigned indifference, as she jerked her head up with a frown, and Hermione saw her gaze leaping to the morning's paper, dumped on a table in the corner of the office. The photograph of old Mr Brian Montgomery, the muggle-born philanthropist whose donation Hermione had secured for the school a couple of weeks before, could just be seen, holding his arms aloft to shield his eyes from the flashes of paparazzi camera bulbs.

Hermione could just read the headline, _Muggle-born Sells Wizarding Secrets to Muggle Government, _which was followed by what she knew read: _Montgomery's donations to Burbage High and close relationship with Head sparks fears over her true motivations for the school... _The rest wasn't even worth remembering, though of course, Hermione could, word for disastrous word.

"Why?" Orla said, her voice harsh with alarm and suspicion, "Do you think he's got something to do with _that_?"

"No, no, he's nothing to do with it," Hermione's said hastily, regretting mentioning him at all. Orla was understandably desperate to jump on _anything _that could lead her to an explanation for what was happening with the press, however flimsy or unconnected. Even if that was just the passing mention of obscure, un-notable pure-bloods. "Orla - please, go home? We've done all you can today. We just have to wait to hear back from Montgomery's people_._"

"Home?" Orla's voice wavered dangerously. "I've got my work cut out for me! I can't go _home_!_" _She gripped the back of the chair before Hermione's desk with whitening knuckles. "This isn't just about saving the donation, you and Burbage have never looked worse! We can't possibly go home _now._"

"It's been a long day-" Hermione said, and then, instantly chagrined by the look of incredulity directed her way, dropped her eyes to study her desk.

_It isn't because of yesterday evening. It isn't because he said he'd come, _Hermione wanted to tell her, though of course Orla didn't know anything about her visit. No one did. _This isn't about him, this is Albus's last night at home. Of course it's okay for me to want to spend time with my godson. _Feeling slightly vindicated, she met Orla's scowl. "It's getting late-"

"Hermione, it's _five-thirty_," Orla snapped. "This isn't just some trashy tabloid like the Daily Post. It's spread to the _Daily_ _Prophet. " _

"And you think the Prophet has more credibility than the Post?"

"No, but the _readers _don't know that!" Orla gave the chair a shake. "It's getting out of control! This is more than just published pictures of you drunk, or bad academic results!"

"I know, I know," Hermione muttered, dragging her fingers under her eyes. Orla was looking at her with growing irritation. _I need to tell her. If there's anyone I can trust with this, it's her. Besides, she'll drive herself mad soon. And me._ Hermione drew her wand and herself up straight and nonverbally cast the Muffliato charm. They were probably alone in the school, but Hermione now understood that didn't necessarily mean anything. "Listen," she began, "I _know _you're doing everything you can -"

"Which isn't enough given the relentless regularity of this happening -"

"- But you can't stop _this." _

"Why?" Orla asked, throwing her hands up into the air. "That is my _job. _This is why you employed me, though clearly, maybe you should just fire me now, as I'm turning out to be a huge waste of money!"

"Orla! For Gods sake_, _just calm down and _listen_ to me." When Orla merely jutted out her jaw Hermione went on more gently. "You can't stop this, because this has become _more _than anyone should have to deal with professionally. How do you think The Prophet got wind of Montgomery's donation?"

"I'm assuming he must have told someone."

Hermione shook her head. "We're the first contact with the Wizarding World he's had for years. The information in that article _had_ to come from us because he absolutely didn't want any news of the donation getting out. Don't you remember? The day Brian visited, I instructed everyone he met about his request for privacy, and I really want to believe that everyone to respected that..." Orla had grown utterly still as she processed what Hermione was saying. "You're right, this isn't just about trying to save the donation, but it isn't just about PR damage control either, but being aware that somehow the paper had a way of hearing our meeting. The information in that article - about his work, his background, those were things that he told me, _in this very office._"

"You think - someone, _here,_ betrayed us_?" _Orla's dumbfounded expression was a perfect replica of what Hermione's own had been when she had first read the article that morning and also jumped to that conclusion. However, once the shock had worn off, Hermione found it easier than expected to compose herself. She'd wasted too much energy getting upset over the summer and perversely, it was almost a _relief _to find out it wasn't anything she'd personally been doing wrong. At least with this solid proof, she could begin to understand howthe papers were getting all the information about her and the school all summer, if not the specific way, _yet. _

"Well, I really don't want to jump to that conclusion." Hermione laid her palms up on the desk and fixed her gaze solidly on to the other woman's. "I absolutely believe however, think we are up against an enemy far more concrete than I imagined. One that's going to serious lengths to ruin us."

"But - the school's always had vocal critics, the WIP for one. You're- " Orla paused and raised an arm up in a short, frustrated swipe. "- Hermione Granger. I knew how challenging this job would be. You've always had a difficult time with the press. Clearly I underestimated exactly _how _challenging-"

"_Orla," _Hermione interrupted again, "You said yourself, this is _more _than that. How is the papers publishing, sensitive, secret information that they could only have gained through subterfuge, the usual way of things? And then using that information to not only strike against us to ensure we don't get the money we so desperately need, but use it to vilify muggle-borns even further? We are being attacked by something or someone specific with a definite agenda, can't you see? It might be the WIP, or it might be someone else. Orla, tell me how on _earth_ you can justify that this is your fault, or sole responsibility to fix?"

Orla bit into her lips and rubbed her hand back and forth over the base of her neck. For once, she appeared lost for words. "_Please, _take the evening off," Hermione said. "We can deal with this when we're fresh tomorrow."

The other witch nodded slowly, but did not go for the door. Instead her eyes flicked back over to the paper and she frowned deeply and Hermione thought she might try and argue again, but instead she surprised her. "I think it's time I did a little research of my own," Orla said, measuring the words out carefully. "I might ask some of my contacts at the Prophet if they've picked up on anything unusual, or noticed anything that could back up your theory. As for the other papers - I'll think of something."

Hermione felt the humming vestiges of the Muffliato spell fade as Orla said goodbye and shut the door behind her, and for what felt like the hundredth time that day, she cast a series of revealing spells. Yet again, no listening devices, hidden animagi, or spells were uncovered. Her office was clean, and what did that mean? Hermione lost the poise she'd been trying hard to hold on to in Orla's presence and slumped in her chair, the muscles in her shoulders aching. She spent a few listless minutes organising her desk, making sure all was in place for tomorrow morning. The big day. What gift would the press bestow on her to mark the grand occasion?

Her hand came to rest on the handle of the bottom drawer. She paused, glanced at the shut door of her office and pulled it open with a slight frown.

She lifted out a small leather bag, unzipped it and brought out, one by one, a collection of small, metallic objects, lining them up on the desk and feeling as if she was doing something very wrong. Burbage's reputation was in shatters, they had potentially lost thousands of Galleons, she had a possible mole on her hands, but right now, she would apply just a _hint _of mascara and maybe some blusher to make her look less like she was on the brink of death.

After casting a refreshing charm to remove her old makeup and as she gradually begun to replace it with fresh, her anxiety over the school finally started to lose its grip on her attention to those _other_ thoughts whose aggressive trespasses on her mind she'd been doing her best to fight against all day. The thoughts that had surfaced at the most inappropriate moments, and yet, she had to admit, had made the day's events that tiny bit more bearable.

Was this shade of lipstick too much? She pouted at her reflection and immediately winced at the result. _Oh God, I look ridiculous._ Or was it actually a bit, _vampy_? But really, the colour was totally over the top for a family party. Hermione raised her wand to clean it off but paused. It did make her look slightly more, _interesting. _Less boring, less bookish. She lowered her wand, and while looking her reflection with a dramatically arched eyebrow, she found herself asking whether or not he would like it.

Hermione shut her eyes, instantly mortified. _Thank god I really am alone. What would Orla think? She's right, the school is so much more important than anything else right now. I shouldn't be going to the party. I should be doing more, even if it's triple checking the grounds for faults in the wards. _But behind Hermione's closed eyelids she saw his face, as inscrutable and still as ever, yet with a gaze that traveled rapidly up and down her body before settling on her mouth.

When had anyone last looked at her like _that? _A treacherous thrill fluttered in her heart and trickled into her spine, causing tremors to ripple through her body. The sensation was so potent her breath caught and she squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, pressing her nails into her palms, waiting for it to pass.

_ I'll willingly reconsider my position based on your generous offer._ A slight twitch of his mouth, the faintest of smirks, then a smile that was so genuine that it was impossible not to respond to, even a day later. Hermione opened her eyes and grinned, but pursed her lips and quickly brought up her hand to cover her mouth.

_When have you ever failed at anything? You've earned the right to make announcements like that. _Sat across the table, generous words flowing as if from a spring that had worked its way through stone. At the time, she'd doubted his sincerity, but after last night... Hermione bit into her lips and squeezed the tip of her nose hard, but it wasn't enough, the provocation of her thoughts was irresistible.

Her resolution was crumbling, but she wouldn't go down against her will. If this was going to happen, it would happen on her terms. Orla was definitely gone, and even if this no longer applied to her spoken words, at least no one could hear her _thoughts_, and regardless, this sort of emotional repression was probably extremely unhealthy. So Hermione dropped her hand, gazed at her reflection, thought of Draco Malfoy, and allowed herself to smile so widely her cheeks soon began to ache.

Last night he'd been so calm and cool, arms loosely folded, his long legs crossed, a spark in his eyes she'd only caught glimpses of before. She could have stood there all night, but her body been so _aware _of his physical presence, the absoluteness of his gaze and the confinement of the hall. After their conversation, it had been overwhelming. She hadn't even been composed enough to walk away with her back to him.

As he leant into the door, the tiniest strip of flat stomach had been revealed above where his trousers hung off his hips, the light just catching a hint of dark blond hair and highlighting the diagonal groove where abdominals met pelvis. Hermione's hands involuntarily curled into fists, so she picked up her tub of Sleekeazy's hair potion to give them something to do.

She pictured his smile once again, alive and so much brighter after shedding what he'd left behind in the flat with his words. He had looked so young, so good, _so_ _good_.

She hadn't seen this version of Malfoy for a long time, and even then, only from a distance. It was from far across the Great Hall and the school grounds in the summer, when he'd gracefully lounged, (as only Malfoy could,) in his seat or on the grass, radiating confidence and flirting with the pure-blood girls. When his face hadn't been twisted in distain or hatred, no one could deny he wasn't attractive. Hermione didn't think she'd ever wanted him to regain any of the qualities he'd had at school, but _this _particular one, she could make an exception to.

But it hadn't been the only innate quality of his she'd been confronted with last night. She recalled what had been shared _inside _and her heart quickened. He'd revealed his desire to manipulate, to seek revenge, his seemingly paranoid suspicions, all pointing to qualities he must know would spark distrust or even revulsion in her. So if he was as manipulative as he had described, then _why _had he told her? What had inspired his sudden change of heart and what did he have to gain from it?

But perhaps it was nothing more than taking the opportunity offered by a sympathetic ear and a friendly face. By the end, despite her initial alarm, she found herself absolutely unable to judge him for any of it. He had offered her this honesty and truth and displayed such a great amount of trust in her that she would listen to him, when he so clearly _needed_ to be listened to. Who else did he have? She _couldn't_ judge him. She wouldn't.

She pictured his pale face, evening darkness creeping upon them faster than usual, the light from the cauldron illuminating his sharp bone structure and causing flickering shadows in his hollowed cheeks. But she'd still be able to make out his eyes; still and unmoving from her face, brimming with unexpected and sincere warmth, encouraging her to talk and talk and talk.

Hermione shivered, experiencing waves of excited yet nervous anticipation unlike any she'd ever had in the prospect of seeing _anybody_. Would he come tonight? He had said he would... But perhaps today he'd regretted what had happened? Realised that he'd gone too far and exposed too much. The intimacy she'd felt with him, merely over the exchange of words left her feeling tremulous and vulnerable. If he didn't show...

_Stop. You've indulged yourself enough. _Without giving that possibility any more thought, nor to why it mattered to her _so much, _Hermione swept the makeup back into its bag, gathered her things and flooed directly to Harry's. She stepped out of the fireplace, took a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness of the living room and then let out a soft groan as she recognised the raised voices of Molly and Ginny drifting in through the door to the kitchen. She should have known the Weasley's would have been out in force tonight. She had promised to protect Malfoy, but jokes aside, what if she really _did _have to?

But just as she reached the door to the kitchen she heard a third Weasley, and stopped dead, a cold bucket of dread extinguishing the spark that thinking of Malfoy had kept alive all day. It was unmistakably the deep generous laugh that belonged to Ron.

* * *

Draco followed the maître d' through the rows of softly lit, white linen clad tables. The chinks of crystal wine glasses, gentle piano music and murmurs of richly clad diners floated around him. It was the type of place his mother and father would have regularly dined at, and even Draco, with a sharp awareness of his current situation, couldn't help but feel at home in. It was a beautiful, symmetric room with free standing gilded columns that receded into an enchanted darkness of the Milky Way. Low hanging chandeliers created a faint, dancing pattern of light that bounced back and forth between the tarnished mirrors and potted ferns that clad the walls. It was misty, romantic reflection of those at the height of society, hiding the brutality Draco knew too well was hiding just below the surface.

Zabini was sat at a table at the back and rose eagerly to meet Draco. His deep tan was brought out by a set of exquisitely cut, olive-blue robes and as he stretched out his hand, the surface of the fabric caught the candle light and shone with a flickering, dusty opalescence not unlike the powdery bloom that coats a grape. Draco automatically ran his hand down the soft fabric on his thigh, relieved at his purchase of a set of charcoal grey robes that hinted at indigo or violet, depending on the quality of light. Nothing as ostentatious as Zabini's but they still imbued him with a feeling of capability far greater than just donning his plain old black ones would have done.

He reached the table and lifted his hand to shake Zabini's firmly and without taking his eyes off the other man, ordered a glass of Malbec from the waitress that had emerged to wait just behind him. Already feeling the mask settling comfortably in place, he smiled and gestured for Zabini to re-take his seat before sitting down himself. His back was straight, his heart beat was steady and sure, his Occlumency shields were fortified, the pretence felt as natural as breathing. Getting the truth would be _easy. _

"Quite a conspicuous place to meet, don't you think?" Draco asked, once the greetings were over. "I must have spotted half of the Pure-Blood Directory in here."

Zabini smirked and leant forwards. "Well, while the last place had it's charm, I wanted to be able to talk to you in slightly more comfortable surroundings this time. And don't worry about being _conspicuous, _or any such rubbish. We're not doing anything illegal. You're a free man, Malfoy, it's time you started acting like one."

The waitress arrived with Draco's drink and with barely an acknowledgement of thanks, he took it from the tray, swirled the wine into a whirlpool in the glass and took a sniff. It smelt rich and full bodied and he took a sip before nodding.

"We'll have a bottle," Zabini said. Draco glanced up to see him giving the girl a lecherous smile that remained in place as he watched her departing back.

"I promised Scorpius I wouldn't be home too late."

Zabini waved a languid hand through the air. "You've already convinced me to meet earlier than we planned, so don't worry, I understand you want to get away. It's the last day of the holidays isn't it?" Draco nodded while Zabini picked up the menu. Without looking up he murmured, "How I _wish _for that day to come for the girls."

The waitress soon returned with the bottle and after presenting it to the two wizards, topped up Draco's glass before filling Zabini's. Just before she left, his hand shot out and gripped her elbow.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing later?" His voice was silky and his smile, predatory. Draco repressed a grimace, momentarily caught the girl's eye and then looked away, his skin crawling at Zabini's hammy attempts at seduction.

When she finally left, her frantic giggles sounding like they were on the brink of disappearing off the hearing scale, Draco met Zabini's eyes and decided to amplify his distaste; this was the opportunity to move things along, to correct past 'misjudgements'.

"Don't look so offended, Malfoy, I'll go heavy on the protective spells."

"A _mudblood?" _As soon as the word rolled off his tongue, as easily and scornfully as if he'd never stopped using it, Zabini gave him a slow, wide smile.

"And how do you know she's a mudblood?"

"Can't you just tell?"

Zabini chuckled, rolling the wineglass between his hands. "Perhaps. What's wrong with that? You've been hidden away for too long, haven't you heard the saying? 'Once you've fucked in the mud, nothing pure is good enough?' Daphne is a perfect example. She's so tense I feel like her hips are on the brink of cracking whenever she lets me touch her." He smirked. "Oh come _on, _Malfoy, don't tell me you've been living as a saint these past few years? Forgoing sex completely because the only women you meet are muggles?"

"Muggles are - natural."

"Natural! Oh, that old argument. Muggles and mudbloods _both_ have their natural purpose to serve, it's what I've been saying for years. It must be the muggle in them, makes them as eager to please us as an excited puppy. I didn't realise it was even possible for my dick to even get that wet." An elderly witch coughed pointedly from the table next to them and Zabini smirked. He leant in, speaking more gently. "Don't tell me you didn't hear the rumours at school."

"Of course I did. Didn't choose to listen though." Draco took a long drink of wine before leaning in and placing the glass down with deliberate care. "I didn't need to, Pansy was always up for it. Besides, I never had a problem with convincing Daphne to open up. Found it pretty _easy, _actually," he said with a smile and a deep stab of vindictive pleasure. It was said in the name of research of course: how much provocation could he get away with?

Zabini's lips curled and he leant back, picking up his menu and toying with it once more. "That _whore. _Slept with half of Slytherin before deciding to clam up with me."

Draco raised his eyebrows. He'd expected far more of a rebuttal; there was a big difference in insulting your own wife, and listening to someone else do it. His lack of family loyalty was as alien to Draco as it was revealing. It didn't help to convince him of Zabini's supposed reasons behind the potions _at all. _ "She's given you two children, she can't be that bad?"

"I don't have a _son." _Draco was silent as he watched Zabini over his menu. Was that it? Did it all come down to not having a male heir? Zabini's eyes flickered up and down the text without appearing to settle on anything. Eventually he looked back up and met Draco's gaze. "How can you _stand _to send him to that place Malfoy? I don't _understand_."

Draco shrugged, Zabini was never going to, and he couldn't be bothered to have another repeat of this conversation. He took a deep drink instead of answering.

"Draco_, please _answer me."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're the one claiming mudbloods are natural-"

"_Yes,_" Zabini interrupted,_ "_but their natural uses extend to being fucked, or to serve our drinks, to put together my products. Not to be educated alongside someone like Scorpius." He lay the menu back down and leant across the table, lowering his voice. "How can you _bear_ the thought of him having to wade through all that mud? _Why_ can't you just let us send him to Hogwarts?"

Draco drew himself up and breaking his eye contact with Zabini, looked across the restaurant, doing his best to ignore the twinge of guilt. It hadn't surfaced for a while, and now was _not _the time to allow it to take root. The shadowed faces of the other diners were occasionally illuminated as they lent into the candle light, gaudy jewels flashed, light shimmered across generous splashes of eyeshadow and rouge. Wrinkled and young faces blended together, all with the same vapid smiles, braying tones of laughter and glazed eyes.

He turned back to Zabini, letting only the smallest of frowns mar his features. "Scorpius is my only child. I've been apart from him for most of his life. I know you don't understand my choice, but this will be the last time I justify it to you. Maybe you'd understand if you had a son," Zabini's eye's narrowed slightly, "but for now, I will not be parted from him. Scorpius knows who he is, he won't lose sight of that. I haven't ruled out Hogwarts forever, just for a couple of years, while I sort things out."

The waitress arrived and Draco dropped his eyes to the menu, glancing at the prices for the first time that evening. _Fuck. _A main was nearly the amount he had spent that day on his and Scorpius's new robes. He looked up and saw Zabini watching him with a cruel set to his mouth.

"I'll have the sea bass. Malfoy?"

"The suckling pork belly," he said without a pause, snapping the menu shut.

"Of course, that isn't the _only _thing stopping you from sending him to Hogwarts, is it?" Zabini said, once they were alone again, barely able to contain the glee off his face. Draco felt hatred prickle within him. Zabini couldn't even make it subtle, his brass putdowns were _awful _to be subjected to.

_Well_, _I did just tell him how easy it had been to fuck his wife, so maybe I deserve this one._ _And besides, if that's what he thinks is the real reason behind my choice of Burbage High, then all the better._ So Draco clenched his hands under the table around his wand and kept his expression calm when he said, "I won't lie, money has a lot to do with it. But we're making the best out the situation."

"You _are, _aren't you?"

"How do you mean?"

"Don't be coy, Malfoy! You _know_ what I mean!"

Zabini was leaning forward eagerly, displaying every one of his red wine stained teeth in a grotesque rictus of a smile. Draco had to control his urge to pull back, Zabini was practically chomping at the bit. It was in the way his eyes bored into his, the darting of his tongue as he licked the wine off his lips, straining to boast about what he knew. It was repulsive. "You'll have to be a little more clear," Draco eventually said, after taking a deep swig of wine.

Zabini slammed his hands on the table, causing the cutlery to shake. Draco raised his eyebrows. "_Mudblood Granger," _Zabini hissed, a few flecks of spit flying to land on Draco's face, who held himself still with almost godly willpower. Zabini reared back, panting slightly, eyes darting around the room as if to check for witnesses to his lack of restraint.

"What about her?" Draco brought up a steady hand to wipe the man's saliva off his eyelid, but otherwise was as motionless as could be, his heavily beating heart the only organ to betray how startled he was.

"I know_, _I _know_ you've been out with her. I heard about your little trip to Diagon Alley." A coldness swept up Draco's spine, leaving a trail of prickling gooseflesh like the frost that crystallises in the wake of a Freezing spell.

"Just what are you insinuating?" Draco asked, his determination to control his tone causing the words to exhale from him like smoke. _How did he hear? How much does he know?_ "Of course I'm going to be trying to ingratiate myself with the Headmistress of my son's school. I'm not an idiot. How _else_ do you think I'm going to make the best of this situation?"

"But it's _mudblood_ _Granger!_ Potter and Weasley's bitch."

Draco felt his wand twitch in his hand under the table, but he merely smirked. "Quite frankly, I'm surprised that you're blowing this so out of proportion. Do you think my father _enjoyed_ the time he spent with Dumbledore? Or with the other imbeciles on the Hogwarts Board of Governors? I'm doing what needs to be done for Scorpius. Mudbloods do have their uses, especially Granger, and that means I ought to have the right to use her if I so wish."

Zabini gave him a slow smile, and the manic look Draco glimpsed in his eyes slid back to hide within his skull. He sat back in his chair and surveyed Draco with an expression that Draco hadn't seen directed his way in a long time. A glowing smugness that reminded him immediately of his father.

"You always did take things to the extreme, Malfoy." Zabini downed his wine and then generously topped up the two glasses, giving a throaty chuckle. "Sorry for the histrionics old chap, you're quite right about the way you're going about this, but you had me worried, for a while."

Draco calmly took the proffered glass while his mind frantically turned over Zabini's words like a curse breaker sifting through Runes. "What ever do you mean?"

"Well, I must say, things are turning out very differently to how I imagined last week."

"What, after the debacle of our first meeting?"

Zabini let out a snort of laughter. "Exactly. No one knows how to handle you, Malfoy. You've been behaving very unpredictably. There were rumours that you - Well, Daphne is convinced that her sister had twisted your mind with those eccentric little ideas she used to have, but _I_ knew you were still the same, just - well, struggling to find your feet after Azkaban."

Draco felt his heart begin to calm. "So instead of approaching me, you thought you'd help by tricking me into this, _servitude?" _he said, nodding towards the briefcase on the floor that help the Baranuik potion.

As predicted, Zabini tried to look contrite. "You _must _forgive me, but as I said before, how else could I secure your attention and confidence?" Draco opened his mouth to reply, but Zabini's hand was doing that dismissive wave once again. He found he wanted to snap it backwards in one violent, crunch. Quite a basic, muggle instinct, but it would be satisfying... "Anyway, that's in the _past, _forgive me and we can move on. I wasn't joking when I said I'd introduce you to certain friends of mine. You'll know some of them anyway from school. It's shaping up to be a lovely reunion." Before Draco knew it, Zabini had lurched forward, thrusting his head into the middle of the table and reached over and gripped Draco's forearm through his robes.

"I cannot tell you how _relieved _I am, that things have turned out this way, Malfoy." Draco kept the alarm off his face, but couldn't help it rising violently through his body, flooding the tips of his fingers with the sharp throb of adrenalin. Zabini's dark eyes were gazing unreservedly into his, he could smell his wine soured breath, feel the moist heat of his hand soaking through his robes to the Dark Mark. "I want to _help _you, Draco, I'm not lying. I _will _help you. I can tell you're still a little stubborn in _some _respects in modernising... You're not completely still hung up on the old ways, are you?"

Draco was struck by how vulnerable Zabini suddenly seemed, his waxy skin shining with a film of sweat in the candle light as if he were cast in bronze; his pleading eyes were unblinking, just like a statue of a prostrating muggle saint. It was almost like he was _asking _for Legilimency, but Draco knew better than to try. Either Zabini's acting was far better than Draco ever expected, or he really _believed_ in what he was saying. "I - I have learnt to adapt," Draco said quietly.

Zabini nodded enthusiastically, breaking into a smile. "Good, good," he breathed. "Mass eradication of mudbloods never did make sense. I know it takes a lot, but really, you have to trust me. I can see you don't, not _yet, _but you will." he rasped. Draco could only bring himself to nod in return.

Their food arrived shortly after, but Draco could not rid himself of the lingering sensation of Zabini's hand on his arm, as if it had left some prickling rash. As they ate, drank and talked, which mostly comprised of Zabini garrulously reliving events from Hogwarts in which he was invariably, and inaccurately, the hero, Draco kept half a mind busy with examining the earlier part of the dinner.

His plan was working, the wizard was opening up, far more than he had the other day, but with an unexpected result. Draco was loath to admit it, but in a backhanded and totally misguided way, Zabini was coming across as if he did actually desire to help them. Or if not Draco, at least Scorpius. Did he feel a paternal responsibility to the Greengrass heir since he himself hadn't produced a son? Maybe it _was _a case of family pride. But it couldn't just be as simple as that, could it?

Perhaps this conclusion felt so flat and anticlimactic only due to the crescendo his thoughts had risen to regarding Zabini over the last few days. And really, could Draco trust his instincts? Was his judgement clouded by the insult of Zabini's initial deceit?

If there was nothing left to find out, what was he even _doing_ here, missing Potter's party? Deep down, was he actually pursuing Zabini's promises of further opportunities under the guise of discovering a imagined 'truth' which was most probably born out of paranoia? Was he missing more time with his son, and losing the chance to get to know Hermione a little better for the promise of a life he'd thought he'd turned his back on?

The salty pork melted on Draco's tongue, mixing with the sharp, sweet tang of apple. It tasted heavenly. The pianist was playing a beautiful, haunting rendition of Chopin's Nocturne in C sharp Minor, one of his grandmother's favourites, (Malfoy side, of course.) He thought about the photograph of Hermione in Daily Post. Perhaps if he did follow the path Zabini seemed to be laying out for him, might he get the opportunity to be able to work out just what was going on there?

Draco started to relax, feeling full and sleepy, and began to fantasise about cornering the editor of the paper in some dark hallway at one of the great Samhain costume balls that would take place in manors up and down the country in a couple of months. Or could he get him before then? Perhaps at the Autumn Equinox. He found himself idly watching their waitress, Zabini was right, she was stunningly pretty. She noticed Draco's attention and smiled at him, running a hand through the hair that had fallen from her bun. The gesture was like a slap. Draco blinked and sat up straighter, feeling suddenly awake. Hermione.

There had been something about the way Zabini spoke about her that had alarmed him. Draco forced himself to re-examine Zabini's mannerisms when the subject of the witch had come up. He had been noticeably intense, despite his blasé trivialising of other mudbloods. Draco thought about his own visceral reaction he'd had in response. _Surely_ that was due to more than just a surge of protectiveness? He shouldn't even be feeling _that _strongly about Granger given the short space of time he'd known her. But if his instincts were already under question then could he even trust his body?

He thought of how last night in the flat he'd had to fight the urge with everything he had not to walk to her and lift her up and press her to his chest. Or how every time she brushed her hand through her hair, he wanted to grasp it, and feel her fingers weaving through his, instead. What would that feel like? What would her touch feel like? Soft and tremulous like her voice had been when discussing his plans for this evening? Or firm and steady - like the way she looked at him when telling him about Scorp's muggle fighting, or rough, like -

Draco blinked, and brought his glass to his lips, gulping down several large mouthfuls. _No, _he absolutely couldn't trust his body's reaction to anything. He wrenched his mind away from Hermione and tried to grasp back the thread of the conversation and where he'd reached in his evaluation. He'd been thinking about Diagon Alley. He _needed_ to think about her _dispassionately,_ without the distraction his feelings provided_. _

It would be useful to know exactly when Zabini had heard about the trip. Perhaps he should consider just how coincidental it was that the potion order had arrived almost the very next day. He hadn't even linked the two in his mind: Zabini and Granger occupied such different spheres of his life he'd never considered the two threads of events over August in relation to each other.

Draco finished his third glass of wine, a slight numbness spreading through his limbs, his thoughts feeling more and more slippery, drifting away from his intent. He laughed at a joke Zabini made, and pictured how he'd look if he used the Densaugeo hex on him. But his train of thought had been important, he had to _focus_, he couldn't waste his time.

What if Zabini had heard about the incident, immediately? Had _that_ been the catalyst that made Zabini reach out to him? In fact, why had it been so important that he find out Draco's intentions with her in the first place? And why did he seem to care _so much _about the result, and Draco's current attitude to blood? Draco decided, well after the wine had been finished, the plates cleared away and the first glasses of port had been drunk, to dig deeper, to further exploit Zabini's enthusiasm about Hermione.

"I'm curious, Zabini, why you chose _now _to take me under your wing? Why not years ago, when I first got out?"

Zabini took his time to answer, lavishly scratching the stubble on his neck as he leant back in his chair. "Well, you _know _I don't like to rush into things, Malfoy, and to be perfectly honest, I didn't realise things were becoming so dire for you until recent things were made clear to me."

"Your realisation that I was totally broke, or the sightings of me with Potter and Granger?"

Zabini grinned. "Blunt. I like it when you're blunt. Well, both actually. I thought, what could Malfoy want with them? What is he up to? If those are the kinds of people he has been driven to consort with, what are things coming to?"

"And you couldn't rest until you'd satisfied that curiosity?"

"Perhaps," Zabini said, giving a nonchalant shrug.

Draco felt suspicion swell up. Why _now _did Zabini decide to become taciturn? With every other turn of conversation he'd been more than forthcoming. Feeling bolstered by the alcohol, Draco said, "well, now you know all about that," he grimaced, glanced around the room and lowered his voice. "I just have to tell you, it was a _hideous_ experience, spending time with Granger."

Zabini's eyes lit up and he leant forward. "I can _imagine. _What's she like? Up close? Is she as ugly as she was at school?"

_I'm sorry, Hermione, _Draco thought, then smirked and said, "worse. She's starting to resemble and sound like Pince, do you remember? That librarian? She's becoming an utter shrew. I had to breath through my mouth just to stand near her, she _stinks_ of cats."

Zabini let out an uproarious laugh and Draco joined in, feeling his soul trickling black and treacle like into the floor where it could puddle in shame, far away from his mind. "That is _disgusting. _I'm not surprised, she was always headed that way. You poor sod, I'm sorry you're having to go through this."

_Why did he use present tense? _Draco sat up a little straighter. "I did what needed to be done." He gave a martyred shrug. "She lapped up my apologies easily enough. Scorp won't encounter any trouble, well actually, I'm pretty confident he'll benefit." As he spoke, Draco looked at the mirrored wall to the side of their table under the pretext of smoothing back the hair over his forehead. In fact, he was intensely studying Zabini's profile. "I'm just relieved it's all over."

Zabini's laughter died and his eyes bulged almost comically. "You're stopping?"

Draco frowned and dragged his eyes away from the reflection, just in time to see bored amusement slide back over Zabini's features. _Idiot, doesn't he know how mirrors work? What's trying to hide? _"Yes, would _you_ want continued exposure to Potter's mudblood? Of course it's over." He widened his eyes slightly, but not too much. "Especially now I know I can count on you to help me get back on my feet, take you up on those contacts? I don't need Granger anymore." _Make him underestimate you, _Hermione's advice echoed in his head.

Zabini gave him a smile that was slightly too indulgent. "Draco, let's not be too hasty, shall we?"

"What do you mean?"

"Only that, it might be _prudent, _for you to stay in contact with Granger for just a while longer. School hasn't started yet, and you don't want Scorp to suffer if she realises it was all just an act?"

"Why would she realise that?" he asked slowly.

"Well, you know." Zabini raised his hand in the air and caught the attention of the waitress. "It's a bit suspicious, isn't it? Lay the Malfoy charm on thick, then pull it suddenly away. She probably didn't realise what hit her, she'll be gagging for more. The mudbloods are all the same, even Granger. Give them a taste, and they can't get enough." He winked as if he were imparting the most important secret in the world.

Draco smirked. Had Zabini just slipped up in being so obvious? Or had that been on purpose? It had been so unsubtle, it was practically an order. Zabini continued on, loudly, revelling in the throaty tones of his own voice, the wine embellishing where Draco hoped common sense had departed. "Even the ones who claim to be above it. They can't help it, they _crave _the feeling of being part of our world. It's tragic really, but incredibly useful. The key is making sure they're kept at their rightful station and don't go getting ideas that are above them."

"Like Granger."

"Exactly. She's always been an anomaly, refusing to get back where she belongs. Burbage was the perfect place for her, kept her from causing trouble, that was, until she became Head."

"I see."

"Do you? What _exactly_ do you see?" Zabini asked, sitting back in his chair, out of the sphere of candle light. His face was shadowed and hard to read but Draco still got the impression he was expected to say something momentous. But what, he had no idea. All he knew was that despite Zabini's horror of Scorpius attending Burbage, he was now _encouraging _him to cultivate a relationship with Hermione. What the hell was he meant to make of _that? _

"Surely, Blaise, it would suit you if Granger decided not to let Scorp attend Burbage?"

Zabini's face twitched and he picked up his port glass and began to roll it in circles on the edge of its base. "Well," he said slowly, "I can recognise a losing battle. If you're determined to go down that path, then I have to support that. As you say, he isn't _my _son."

_What? _It was the most humility Draco had ever heard Zabini speak with, and potentially therefore, contained the least sincerity. Zabini glanced up, tilted his head forward into the candle light and opened his mouth to speak but the waitress arrived in that moment and the spell was broken. Instead, in a loud, booming voice Zabini said, "well, I better be off and you've got a boy to get home to. Before I forget, I brought this." Zabini reached his hand over the floor on the other side of the table and said, "_up_." A brand new Firebolt leapt into his palm. "Daphne and I visited her parents last night. I saw it and thought Scorpius must be desperate to start school with his new broom. It's such a waste to leave it lying around." He offered it to Draco, who took it, his arm feeling strangely drained.

"Thank you, Scorpius will be delighted."

Zabini grinned and handed the silver dish full of Galleons back to the witch with a wink. He then slid a cheque across the table to Draco. Zabini made to stand up, but before he could, Draco felt himself jolt into the moment, impulsively reaching out and placing his own hand on Zabini's arm. A sudden, irrepressible urge had taken hold, to not let the meeting end like this. Zabini _had _to have another motivation with Hermione past Scorpius's wellbeing, and he was keeping it _just_ out of reach. Draco had to find out more, while he still had a chance. He struck out, desperately hoping he'd _finally_ hit the mark.

"I meant what I said, Zabini," Draco's voice was low, almost rasping with tension. "I'm finished with Granger, I see no need in cultivating any relationship with her." A muscle was dancing in Zabini's neck, though his expression had not changed. Draco pushed on, the desire to provoke and with a now familiar feeling of protection over Hermione giving his words an intensity that was impossible to disguise. "The only interest I serve is that of my son, and if I think no benefit would come from feigning a relationship with her, then _nothing_ could convince me to change my mind."

Zabini was utterly still. The silence between them was charged. _Is__ this it? Is this is the real reason he wanted to win my favour? He needs something from me, it's to do with Hermione. What will he risk saying now to convince me, without giving the game away? _Draco felt both frantic and triumphant, his heart was beating a dizzying rhythm, the sounds around them blurring to an indistinct buzz.

But Zabini sat back and just laughed, and Draco squeezed the nails of his other hand, the one that gripped his wand under the table, into his palm, fighting against the urge to draw it up and cast _Legilimens_ and make his entry into Zabini's mind as painful and violent as possible. Why the _fuck_ hadn't he brought along the leftover dregs of the Baraniuk, and slipped it in Zabini's drink the first chance he had? Taking the truth from his mind would have been as easy as skimming scum off the surface of a stagnant pool of water.

"Draco Malfoy, I find that _very _hard to believe,_" _Zabini said, his voice as oily as his skin. Draco abruptly pulled his left hand off Zabini's arm as if burnt, the surge of disappointment and frustration crushing his brief victory. "Until next time. The potion should be finished in a few weeks time, is that right? Yes, well, that should give you plenty of time to think about what I've said. There's a small party I'm throwing towards the end of the month. I'd love for you to come. Might be able to set you up with a couple more potion contracts, if that _is_ all you are interested in pursuing, as you say."

Draco squeezed out a thin smile and took the offered hand, shaking it with as much strength as he could muster. He knew it was over. There was nothing else Zabini would tell him now. He pocketed the cheque and rose, gave Zabini one last nod and strode back through the restaurant, desperate to be alone with his thoughts.

He stepped out on to Diagon Alley, ignored the farewell of the maître d', and without a second thought, mounted the Firebolt and kicked off into the air, skimming the roof of the antiques shop opposite with the tip of his shoe. The moon was full and bright, and as soon as he left the yellow glow of the gas lamps that lined the street, he was bathed in silver light. It was still August, but he was thankful that the air that bit at his face was sharp and sobering as he forced his way onwards and upwards, the drag caused by the broom's violent acceleration and the resultant roar of wind in his ears stripping away any lingering physical seductions dinner with Zabini had swathed over his body and mind.


	21. Party Makeovers

A/N - Merry Christmas everyone! The first half of this chapter is for the lovely lady, I Love Music. Bit of a change, but I think we needed something fun after the last chapter. Hope you enjoy! Thanks to all who continue to follow, favourite and review. To all my regular reviewers - you know I love you, but a million public thank yous anyway!

To all you recent Dramione lovers who I noticed signing up recently - (yes, of course I check out everyone's profile in depth) you will be rewarded for your hard work in reading this long and winding story very soon! I've got 2 weeks off from work and since I've spent all of today trying to iron out some issues with direction, instead of doing real life xmas prep, (so naughty,) the next chapter should be with you relatively soon! xx

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Chapter 21 - Party makeovers

"Well, Grandma won't let _us_ go near the food table without supervision, and she hasn't met you yet, so I think it'll work, especially since Dad spent all afternoon convincing her how good you are." James spoke frankly and Scorpius felt unable to hold his gaze.

He instead looked around the huddled circle. The expressions of the other children shone brightly as they gazed back at him, despite the deep gloom beneath the tree canopy. He realised, ironically, he was a familiar situation - the pre-game meeting, as Callum always called it - but instead of witnessing brazen attempts to conceal nerves with a can of Stella or a dangerously escalating ribbing war, the tension of these children was released through shrilly stifled giggles and a _lot _of play fighting.

They were all so young and what they planned, so harmless, that despite knowing how only weeks ago he would have laughed at how lame they were, their excitement was contagious. Scorpius felt a smile growing on his lips as he remembered that he didn't have to be that _old _self anymore, who felt guilty at James's words and who didn't deserve Harry Potter telling Molly Weasley that he was a _good_ person. Because with this lot, he could be whoever he wanted to be. The guilt faded as fast as it had come.

"Why can't you you just use your invisibility cloak?" said a sandy haired boy, one of the many Weasley cousins Scorpius had been introduced to that evening. _Louis, second child of Bill and Fleur,_ he mentally recited, fastidious about getting every detail of that evening right.

Teddy, who was leaning against the trunk of a tall birch with his arms folded, laughed. "Harry confiscated it this afternoon," he said, while James scowled.

"Why?" Scorpius asked.

"You don't want to know what they did with it at the last family party," a pretty blond girl drawled from where she stood slightly outside the circle, keeping watch over the adults through the trees. _Victoria, Louis' older sister, also off to Hogwarts tomorrow..._

"Mum couldn't get her hair to change back for _days," _said a little boy, standing to Scorpius's right. "It was so _cool!"_ _Fred, after his dead uncle, son of George and Angelina. _

"What colour did it go?" Scorpius asked him. A few of the cousins in the circle exchanged wide eyed looks. A couple more, Teddy included, bit their lips, restraining smiles.

"It turned into _snakes." _Albus said solemnly. "Dad tried to talk to them, he thought he might be able to ask them to change back to normal when nothing else seemed to work, but they just ignored him. He said all they would do was argue with each other about whether Aunt Angelina needed to switch to a milder shampoo or not."

"Can we get back to the point, people." James announced officiously, clapping his hands over the laughter that had erupted following Al's words. "Those were some experimental sweets Uncle George was working on, we shouldn't have nicked them-"

"It was still funny though," Teddy interrupted with a grin.

"Grandma's bringing the first food out," Victoria called from over her shoulder, looking out through the branches that shielded the group. "I can see cocktail sausages, jelly boats, sandwiches-"

James threw his eyes and his arms to the sky. "We're losing time here, people! Victoire, did you get the stuff?" _Victoire, not Victoria! Why do they have to have such weird names?_

She looked round to face them and smirked. "Of course I did." She swung her little yellow rucksack off her shoulder, and dug her hand in. "So, I got loads of Transfigure Treats, mostly the reptile and bird ones, a few Ginger Snaps, some cool potions like Bubble Breath and Misty Mouth." She grinned at Teddy and gave the little paper bags she'd pulled from her rucksack a shake before passing them over to him. "And some surprises."

"Thanks Victoire, you're amazing." Teddy said, taking the bag with wide smile.

"Why couldn't they just get that themselves?" Scorpius asked Albus quietly.

"Banned from Uncle George's shop by Mum."

At that moment James clapped his hands again. "Right, so we're all set? Scorp, you in?" Every head swivelled towards him once again.

"Er - wait a sec," Scorpius said, looking at Teddy. "We swap clothes, you turn into me_-"_

"Well, not _exactly _you, but close enough to trick Molly." Teddy said. "I've been practicing and-"

"You've been _practicing_? To look like _me?_" Scorpius interrupted, stunned.

Teddy laughed. "It's not that hard, I think it helps that we're related. Watch." He stepped into a shaft of dappled moonlight and tilted his face up so it was softly illuminated. He looked like the kid in the alien film he'd once watched at Jake's, expression placid, arms raising skyward, waiting to be sucked up in the abducting beam of a UFO.

"He's such a poser," Al whispered in his ear, but Scorpius ignored him and stepped closer, and the only sound was the rustling of feet on dry leaves as everyone else did the same.

There was no change for several long moments, but then there was a huge collective intake of breath as it looked like someone was turning up a dimmer switch on Teddy's head, his brown hair bleaching out until it glowed silver in the moonlight. Strangely, his robes were slowly getting bigger, the sleeves creeping down over his hands, but Scorpius blinked, the surrounding darkness came into focus and he realised Teddy was actually _shrinking_.

"Hey, I'm not _that _short -" he said.

"Shh!" James whispered, "he needs to concentrate."

The transformation was gaining speed, as if Teddy was gaining confidence. His nose was lengthening, his mouth grew smaller, but his lips were getting fuller and more _girly _somehow, the shape of his face became softer, younger, and then, all of sudden, the shifting of muscle and bone stopped and he opened his eyes, round, pale blue and blinking rapidly.

Scorpius felt goosebumps prickle over his body and the hairs on his arm stand up as his gaze settled on him. "Wow," he breathed, so quietly no one could hear, "that's _so _cool." Teddy raised a pair of eyebrows that were so pale they were almost indistinguishable from his skin and grinned, taking a couple of bows to the applause that had broken out.

"There's no way anyone's gonna fall for this! He looks completely different to Scorp!" Albus said loudly, kicking a tree stump.

"_Shut up _Al!" James said, his hands frantic. "Do you want everyone to hear us?"

"What do you think?" Teddy asked Scorpius, stepping back into the darkness towards him, ignoring everyone around them.

Scorpius didn't know what to say. It didn't matter if Teddy was just doing this to pull off a prank, but more that he was here, standing in this tree clearing, _wanting _to include Scorpius, _wanting _to look like him. The feeling was indescribable. All he knew was he had never felt as happy or as peaceful as he had in that moment - despite the excitement that wouldn't let his limbs keep still or his mind from buzzing."You look, alright," he finally said, his voice constricted with the effort of keeping all of those thoughts from spilling out of him.

"So modest, Scorpius Malfoy." Teddy said, smirking and sweeping his platinum blond hair back off his forehead in one confident stroke. "So, shall we do this?" Scorpius felt choked. Why didn't he look that cool when he did that with his hair? He nodded faintly, completely overwhelmed.

Teddy stepped even closer and gazed right into his face, exactly on his level. He'd got his eyes _just_ right. It really was like looking at himself in the mirror. "It'll be fine, I won't get you in trouble," he told him quietly. "They pretend to get angry- I think they think they have to, for appearances sake, but in our family," Scorpius's breath caught and Teddy must have noticed as he smiled, "-it's almost worse if nothing like this happens. Us young Marauders have a lot to live up to."

"I can handle it," Scorpius whispered.

Teddy nodded and looked round the group. "Right, clothes swap time," he announced. "Scram everyone. Remember, act natural, if that's even possible for you lot."

After a quick change and a few minutes of crawling around in the dark, Scorpius found himself a hollow space within a large bush that was set on the border to the lawn and the wilder, wooded end of the garden where the metamorphosis had taken place. He happily settled down in the dirt, Teddy's words wrapping him in a blanket of warmth that no amount of bugs or thorns or cooling air could infiltrate, and parted the branches to get a good view of the party.

The garden looked amazing. Big Chinese paper lanterns floated around, casting bobbing domes of light on the grass as they moved, caught in the gentle breeze of magic and collecting a small trail of fluttering moths as they went. Balloons that glittered as if filled with fireflies were strung up in generous abundance, and ropes of garlanded flowers and bunting weaved between the trees and tall posts. Several big, cauldron-like torches placed at random into the grass had flared into life as the sun set, and now burnt brightly with lavender coloured flames.

Most guests were dotted about the grass in small groups, variously lounging on piles of beanbags or at picnic tables, or gathering around the purple fires with drinks in hand, the children spreading out among their parents as though nothing untoward was currently happening.

He played a game, seeking out the faces of Al's family, testing his memory. _That's Bill and Fleur Weasley, Arthur Weasley, George and Angelina Weasley with Roxanne, Great Aunt Andromeda, Hermione, or Professor Granger I guess. _He stumbled on a few, shadowed and indistinct outside the torchlight. _Oh well. Lots more time to find out._ Conversation, shouts and laughter all floated like enchantments on the air and Scorpius basked in the glow of the knowledge that he was where he _belonged_.

_But_ -

Scorpius bit into his lips, squeezed his hands into fists and tried to hold on the feelings of peace, like he had in the circle with the others. But this thought was a splinter in his mind that he couldn't ignore. Earlier had been about the past, but _this_ was the future. A future so immediate that he could already feel himself mourning the present.

_But - they're going to Hogwarts tomorrow_. _And I'm not._ Scorpius hugged his knees to his chest, wrapped Teddy's robe around him tightly and imagined his cousin's eyes, bright blue and exactly the same as his.

_He said we're family. They won't forget me. _Scorpius buried his nose into the fabric, breathing in the unfamiliar scent, and blinking through the sharp and sudden prickling in his eyes, he focused his attention on the trestle table at the far end of the lawn and at Teddy who had just left the light of the back door, arms laden down by a big platter. He was wearing the velvety blue dress robes Dad had bought for him that afternoon from Madam Malkin's with a swagger and unlike himself, he pulled them off. The wide silhouette of Mrs Weasley was watching him from the door with folded arms and her head cocked to the side, her face unreadable in the darkness.

As she turned to go back into the kitchen, Teddy surreptitiously glanced round before pouring a potion into one of the jugs of juice. He pulled back just in time to see a tall, red haired man Scorpius hadn't been introduced to approach him. Scorpius's stomach flipped and he realised his hands were shredding a leaf into a little pile of ribbons on his trainers.

But suddenly, his view to the garden was blocked by the dark shapes of two people, who without his noticing, had come to stand right in front of his bush. He let the parted branches pull soundlessly back into place and sat helpless, legs still pulled up awkwardly to his chest, inches from their feet.

"Ginny, what is it?" It was Professor Granger and she sounded weary.

"I just want to know how you knew Malfoy was coming tonight." Ginny said. Scorpius grew completely still.

"What are you talking about?" Miss Granger said sharply.

"When Harry was talking to Scorpius earlier, when he told everyone his dad was coming late. I saw you Hermione, you weren't surprised at all. You're an awful actress."

There was a pause. "I _did _look surprised -"

"Yes, far too much. Hermione, how do you know?" Ginny said, gently. "Even Harry thought Malfoy wasn't coming, and this is his house."

"Jesus, Ginny, why does this matter?" Miss Granger, on the other hand, sounded stressed, defensive.

"Hermione, come on." Now Ginny's voice was raised. "Don't be like that with me."

There was a long pause. "I'm sorry_," _she sighed, "I'm sorry, it's been a long day." There was another silence as she rocked on her feet. Finally, she murmured, "I saw him last night."

"_What? _Why?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It matters because this is _Malfoy_." Scorpius shut his eyes, wishing he was somewhere else. But he daren't move now, despite the way his thighs had already started to ache. He couldn't betray Teddy and James. "I don't understand. Did you have to see him about Scorp?"

"Er - no, I just-" Miss Granger's voice hardened. "Listen Ginny, I don't need to justify anything. I'm sorry about lying, but I really didn't want to have this conversation tonight. Not on top of everything else. I've had an awful day, you know why, and I should still be at work. _Please_ don't blow this out of proportion."

Ginny tutted and she stepped closer to the other witch. "I'm sorry love, I didn't mean to have a go. I just want to understand." She paused. "I feel like everyone's gone mad."

There was a gentle laugh and Miss Granger's right foot rocked on to its side. "We're not mad, Ginny. You just need to give him a chance." Scorpius opened his eyes, peering up through the leaves, hoping to catch a glimpse his professor's face. Her voice had softened when discussing his dad and perhaps her expression would have done too. But it was too dark and he didn't dare to part the leaves.

Ginny snorted. "That's what Dominic said."

"_Dominic _said that?"

"What's so unbelievable about that? Hermione, I know you're pretty open-minded, but you can also be so judgmental sometimes."

Miss Granger laughed. "Pot calling the kettle black." But then she groaned and swore while the women's legs turned away from each other, to face back towards the garden.

"Hello!" Ginny called out. "Finished giving young Master Malfoy the third degree?"

"_What?" _Miss Granger said under her breath,_ "_I didn't see that! Why didn't you rescue him Ginny?".

"He looked like he was holding up fine. Little boys hate being rescued by uncool old mums like me."

A trouser clad pair of legs joined the two women. Scorpius groaned internally. If _only_ he could do magic now. He could cast a spell that would make him silent and he could get away. How long were they going to stand here for? A stone was really starting to dig into his bum. If he could just slide his hand under and move it a little bit...

"As arrogant as his father. And he was pretty shifty, I don't trust him." said a man's deep voice. Scorpius froze.

"_Ron! _He's a child, give him a break!" Ginny cried.

"Did you see the way he was smarming up to mum? I wonder what he wants."

"He's being polite, no one ever offers to help her! He's got far better manners than my children, that's for sure."

The man, Ron, snorted. "Have you seen his robes? Probably cost an arm and a leg. What did Malfoy think this was, some ball or something?" Scorpius felt his heart pounding very hot and loud in his ears.

"They look lovely-' Ginny said, but Ron went on, talking over her.

"I'm not surprised he managed to squirrel away some cash somewhere. I bet they have some accounts that we missed-"

"Ron -" Miss Granger _finally_ spoke up and her voice was frosty. "You don't know what you're talking about."

In the resultant silence Scorpius was sure they were about to discover him. He felt like he was crackling with anger, like any second his heart would explode or he would accidentally set the bush on fire. God, he wished he could do magic. He could feel his wand pressed against his leg, begging to be used. He could take it out, point it at this man and really make him regret what he was saying.

Ron scuffed the grass with his foot. "And you do? Ah yes, he's going to your school, isn't he?"

"Yes he is."

Ron exhaled heavily. "You need to be careful, Hermione."

_ I could cast a spell that pulls out each single hair on his leg. Or one that makes his toenails grow so they curl up in his shoes. Or one that makes him wet himself in front of everyone. _

"Thanks for the advice." Scorpius thought It wasn't even possible for his professor's voice to grow any more sarcastic. He found he liked her for that. She was scary, but he really, really liked her.

"I'm being serious. It's bloody insane, isn't it? Malfoy sending his kid there. I've been reading the papers," there was a groan. "Let's just say, I think there's something going on-"

"It doesn't take a genius to work that out-" Miss Granger squared her legs.

"Why don't we go and get another drink?" Ginny said nervously. But her attempt to distract were ignored.

"I'm just saying, I'm keeping my ears open Hermione. If things turn nasty - if Malfoy's up to something, you'll have the Deputy Head Auror on your side."

"Oh Ron, I completely forgot you made Deputy Head Auror! Why don't you mention it to us _once_ again! Perhaps this time we'll remember!" Ginny cried.

"_Thanks, _but that won't be necessary." Miss Granger hissed over her. "Come on Gin, I'm thirsty."

"Yes!" Ginny said with relief. "Yes please, me too, totally parched!". The two women began to move away, and Scorpius flexed his arms and lifted his feet off the floor, aching to stretch them out, but Hermione's legs stopped abruptly.

"Hermione, just a minute." Ron said, quietly.

_ No, no, please just go away. I don't want to hear anything else. I hate you, whoever you are._

She sighed and moved back to the bush. "Gin - I'll catch up in a minute. No, I'm fine, honestly." The sound of Ginny's footsteps on the grass faded. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to say, you look great tonight," Ron said, taking a step towards her.

She moved backwards. "Ron -"

"What? Why can't I say that? I don't think I've ever seen you with - Well, I didn't think I liked it at first but whatever you've done to your lips looks really -"

"_Jesus, _Ron. Always the tone of surprise," she said, sounding exasperated. Her left foot rose to balance unsteadily on her toe. "You haven't changed at all." Scorpius thought he could hear a smile in her voice, and his anger swelled back up to encase her too. And it hurt more this time, as from her, smiling at anything this man said felt like a betrayal. Ron chuckled, took another step forwards and this time she didn't move away.

"Are you disappointed about that?"

"I think that's irrelevant."

"No, it's not. Nothing you think is irrelevant." There was a long silence before Ron spoke again. "I am worried you know. I was worried I'd find you all-"

"What? Losing the plot?"

"Merlin, Hermione. You could never lose that."

She snorted. "You have no idea."

"I meant that by the way. If you need any help." He moved even closer. Their toes were now only as far apart as the length of his wand. After a few moments of silence Miss Granger took a long step back. Ron sighed loudly.

"Ron - Don't. Just, don't. Let's find Harry."

"Hermione, if he tries anything-"

"You'll what? Dual him? Arrest him? You can think what you want, no one's asking you to make friends, but _please _don't make a scene."

"Why are you so sure he's coming anyway?" Ron said gruffly. "It's getting late."

There was a long pause. "Because I know that he wouldn't let down his son. He's devoted to him." she said, in that same, soft tone of voice as when she'd discussed his dad before. And then they moved away and Scorpius painfully stretched out his arms and legs, Miss Granger's gentle words in his ears, reassuring and soothing some of the lingering anger. Of course Dad would come, he had to prove them all wrong, especially that horrible man.

* * *

Hermione strode back towards the house as calmly as she could given the circumstances. She knew if she looked back she'd see Ron trailing behind her, doing those sad, wide eyes that he knew once would melt whatever mood he'd decided she was in, but now just pissed her off. Deep under-eye bags now made him look more hangdog than puppy-dog and it had taken Hermione more than she would care to admit to overcome the sudden, enraged need to ask him if his _wife_ was still taking good care of him, fulfilling his needs, etcetera, etcetera, and just walk away...

But she was pissed off with herself too, _for being pissed off_. After all this time, she should be over it. It had been _years _since she'd last made the mistake of giving in to that small flicker in her heart that his slow smile and attention still caused, but not that many years since the last time she'd confronted him over causing it. But that part of her life was completely _over. _She could walk away, she wouldn't be drawn into _anything. _If Ron wanted to flirt with her, well that wasn't her problem.

They found Harry alone, fussing over the food table, his hair more tousled than it had been when Hermione had last seen him.

_ "_Harry, mate! Where've you been?" Ron said, moving past Hermione to clap him firmly on his upper arm.

"Just getting things ready," he said with a faint smile.

"I've heard all about this famous singer - er, boyfriend - of yours. Where you hiding him? Upstairs?" The forced joviality in Ron's voice was painful. Harry's smile faltered rapidly. Ron Weasley, as subtle as a hammer, and Gryffindor through and through. Don't understand? Think it might be a threat? Attack first, question later.

Harry took a deep breath, his fingers scraping through his hair. "No Ron, I haven't been with Marv, he's not here. We've broken up," he said impassively. "I've actually been busy setting up the wards. They're pretty spectacular." Hermione sent him a massive, fortifying smile which he returned weakly.

"Oh shit, mate, I'm sorry. Why?"

"Just didn't work out," Harry said, though by the single-minded way Ron was now eying the food table, Hermione thought Harry could have said, 'I decided I prefer women after all,' and Ron wouldn't have batted an eyelid.

"Sorry, mate. Well, you know, plenty of fish and all that. Great spread you've got here by the way!" Ron said, leaning over to reach for a crustless sandwich triangle, popping it in his mouth whole.

Harry took a deep gulp of his beer, looked like he was struggling to swallow, and finally, wincing, he said, "it should be, Molly's been working flat out all day."

"Good old Mum."

"She better not see you doing that." Hermione said primly, unable to help herself. "We've all been under strict instructions not to touch anything until everyone gets here."

Ron rolled his eyes and reached forward for another sandwich. "And you say, _I_ haven't changed," he murmured. Hermione felt her face heat up and kept her eyes firmly averted from Harry, who, she could see in her periphery, had raised his eyebrows. "Everyone meaning, _Malfoy_?" Ron asked, mouth full.

"Not especially. Harry's got a few neighbours arriving late too."

"_Muggles? _Have you seen this place?_"_

Harry grinned. "Yeah, that's why I was working on the wards you see -" But in that moment something in the sky caught his eye, he did a double take and said, "you have _got _to be kidding."

Hermione turned around and gazed upwards. She laughed, then clapped her hand over her mouth, relief and bewilderment flooding her. A dark robed figure was high above them, the flash of his white blond hair clear as he dipped and weaved about on a racing broom, leaving a trail of gold sparks behind him. As they watched, and to Hermione's complete amazement, the sparks began to arrange themselves into a looping, slightly drunken script.

"Stay - in - school - boys - and - girls," Harry read out. "Oh my god."

Hermione's stomach lurched as Malfoy did a twirling dive seemingly just for the sake of it, and she looked away, and at Ron. His lips were in a tight line and his ears were already a violent red. He blindly reached for the nearest plate, eyes locked on the sky, and began to work through a pile of biscuits with mindless aggression.

"DAD!" Scorpius's shriek carried from the other end of the garden. He ran forwards into the centre of the lawn, pulling his robes over his shoulders as if they had slipped off in excitement. Malfoy did one last sweeping loop and glided down, landing with his back to the house and with a graceful jog that ended with Scorpius flinging himself into his arms. Their heads bowed together and Hermione could just make out what seemed to be a very intense conversation, Scorpius frowning and shaking his head and Draco's hand running across his cheek.

"Is that a Firebolt Supreme?" Ron spat, along with a few crumbs. "Is that a fucking _joke_? You think I didn't know what I was talking about before? Yeah, they seem like they're really on the fucking breadline." Hermione hid her own surprise and kept quiet. The broom must have been a gift from Blaise Zabini.

Draco crouched, seemingly to gather his thoughts while he watched Scorpius fly towards the trees. When he stood and turned to face the house, his gaze swept the garden and across the guests, who had all stopped what they were doing to stare. Some, mostly children, were looking in excited awe between the words that still sparkled in the sky, and the man himself, but the adults all wore expressions that varied between trepidation and disapproval.

Hermione saw Andromeda come to the window of the house, take in the scene worriedly and withdraw. Malfoy hadn't seen her.

Instead of diminishing under their attention, as he had done when Hermione had accompanied him to Diagon Alley, Draco raised his chin and catching sight of her, Harry and Ron, began to stroll towards them, slowly lifting a hand to smooth back his windswept hair and his robes. Hermione felt pride in him for that, and smiled widely, stepping forward to meet him, keen to get away from the grumble of Ron's incessant diatribe.

Malfoy's skin was flushed, his eyes were excited and sparkling from flying, but his attention on Hermione lasted as long as it took his eyes to flick from her smile, down her body to her toes and then he was looking hard at Ron. Hermione's hands hung at her side, her unreturned smile faltered, each delicate though about Draco that had occurred since last night now swayed dangerously in a tidal oscillation of doubt.

Had he regretted what he told her? Were his barriers were back up? He was already more distant, it echoed the last time she'd seen him in this garden - but in the time it had taken her to have these thoughts, Draco had come very close, closer than he'd ever been and her mind froze. His arm wrapped around her waist, his hand in the small of her back, he leant down and the eyes she met briefly before he was brushing lips that felt dry and chapped against her cheek, weren't cold at all, but warm and amused. Sandpaper stubble dragged against her skin and beneath that his cheek was so warm it burnt.

Hermione shut her eyes and breathed him sharply and without thinking. He smelt familiar, yet thrilling. High, cold, fresh air - the smell of the boys when they'd got back from Quidditch practice, but beneath that, something musty and sharp - the smell that lingered in the potion dungeons at Hogwarts.

"You look beautiful," the words pushed out on breath that was wine sweetened and warm tickled the skin beneath her ear and she shivered, automatically bringing her shoulder up to ease it, and immediately hoped he hadn't noticed. As he pulled away Hermione opened her eyes just in time to see him grin. "Nice to see you again, Granger," he said, his voice heavy with amusement.

"And - and you, Malfoy." Hermione only just registered Ron's heavy, irate breathing to her side. She was too relieved and overwhelmed to care.

"These wards better be up and running, Potter," Malfoy said with a glance at the sky, moving away to grasp Harry's outstretched hand.

But before Harry could reply, Ron stepped forwards and jerked his hand at the sky and said, "Wards? Wards couldn't help this! We're in a muggle area! You were on a _Firebolt, _The ministry cleanup's going to be out of control!"

"Ron, _please_." Hermione muttered, placing a hand on his arm. Malfoy saw the gesture and his eyebrows shot up. Hermione dropped her hand.

Draco was a couple of inches shorter than Ron, but the straightness of his back and the angle he held his head at gave the impossible impression that he was looking down on the other wizard. "Weasley, I'm more than capable of Disillusioning myself, not that the _make _of the broom makes a massive difference to any muggles that may have witnessed me." He paused, his eyes swept up and down Ron's figure, and he smirked, as if what he was seeing was not a the smart robes befitting the Deputy Head Auror, but instead, Ron's old, hand-me-down school uniform. "But I guess you wouldn't have ever seen a broom like my son's, so I don't blame you for becoming moronic with jealousy. A familiar feeling I suppose." The only indication that fourteen years had passed was how quietly Draco had hissed the last part, as if it were for Ron's ears only, something he'd never aimed for at school.

Ron mouthed soundlessly a couple of times, the blood spreading blotchily from his ears across his neck and face so his even his skin looked angry. Malfoy on the other hand, appeared to be basking in calm, his pale skin almost luminescent. He smiled, but it was too toothy and his eyes were as hard and glinting as chips of granite. Hermione watched helplessly, unease spreading through her. What was _wrong _with him? This wasn't meant to happen. She'd told them he'd changed, and he he was, smashing that to pieces.

"And I know Potter's wards are more than capable of dealing with my little message," Draco said.

"How do you know that?" Ron spluttered.

"Because he helped make them," Harry said, quietly. Ron's eyes bulged and he stepped back, hitting the table.

"And they're working alright together, Potter? The Eihwaz and the Hagalaz Rune?" Draco asked, staring past Ron as if he wasn't there, an action sure to provoke him far more than any words.

Hermione hoped desperately it was to do with how much wine he had clearly drunk, but Draco was acting the most _Malfoy-_like she'd seen him. She didn't like the sharpening of his features or of his words, spoken to inflict pain instead of invite friendship. Had he made that big show of kissing her hello, just to get at Ron too? She thought of the plan he'd told her about - to gain Zabini's confidence by letting him know he wasn't a threat, that he hadn't changed. Perhaps he was still caught up at being 'in character.' Maybe he'd discovered he liked being that person, after all this time.

_Or maybe, he's not 'in character' at all. _

"They worked like a charm. Just like you said." Harry grinned, "I'm glad you made it."

"I wouldn't have missed it. I'm sorry for being so late." Malfoy glanced at Hermione and raised his eyebrows, making her realise how severely her thoughts must have been showing on her face. She tried to relax and he said, frowning "I rearranged my meeting for six, but it still dragged on for longer than I hoped."

She opened her mouth to speak, but Ron interrupted. "_Excuse_ me," he began, but before he could formulate just what it was he was so outraged about, though Hermione could guess any number of things, he coughed, gasped for air and began to gag. One hand leapt up to clasp his throat, the other fumbled for the side of the table.

"Ron! Are you choking?" Hermione said in alarm, starting towards him. But then she stopped dead, as horrifyingly, the skin on his face and hands began to bubble like a simmering liquid. "_RON!" _she cried, and then span to look at Malfoy.

"This isn't me, I swear," he said, the corner of his lip twitching up, raising empty hands.

Ron had brought his hand away from his throat and was gazing at it with widening, alarmingly yellow, slit pupil-ed eyes. His skin had calmed, though now was taking on a green tinge, and the bubbles were flattening out to form a precise, overlapping pattern similar to metal plated armour. _Or_, Hermione realised with sudden and relieved exasperation, _just like scales. _

Harry was watching Ron transform with his face in his hands, but didn't seem overly perturbed. Hermione's shout had rallied most of the guests to gather round, and they watched the transformation with similar expressions to Harry, though the children's faces stood out as gleeful as pixies among the sombre adults. Even the muggles who'd come through the garden gate were observing with the air of those watching a particularly fascinating animal documentary on TV. All were unfazed but one, small blond wizard. Scorpius pushed to the front, his hand going up to pull on his father's elbow at once.

"What's going on?" he asked, but when he caught sight of Ron his mouth dropped open. He hurriedly stepped back to cower behind his father, his face horrorstruck as he watched Ron transform. _Poor Scorpius. Another victim of the Marauders. _Harry needed to have some serious words with his sons and Teddy, who were all suspiciously absent and which judging by the way Harry was now whispering to Ginny, his gaze sweeping across his friends and relatives, he had also realised.

The lizard man, bizarrely dressed up like a respectable wizard, staggered back and clutched the table behind him with clawed hands, a bad ginger wig hair perched atop his knobbly head. Hermione met Malfoy's amused eyes and immediately hid her resulting smile behind her hand, feeling a pang of guilt. This must be utterly humiliating, and Malfoy was enjoying it far too much. Was she as bad? Where was her empathy? Ron fumbled with his sleeves and drew his wand, pointing it, trembling, at Malfoy.

"It wath _him,"_ he panted, chest heaving, a long reptilian tongue flicking out across where his lips used to be.

Malfoy laughed, completely unperturbed by the threatening wand. "No it wasn't! I just got here, sorry to disappoint you, Weasley, but -"

"No, no, not you, your thon. _Thcorpius_"

Malfoy stopped laughing abruptly, and his face became cold. The change was so sudden it was almost inhuman. "What did you say?" he said, quietly, reaching around to make sure Scorpius was still at his back. Hermione saw his own wand drop into his hand by his side. There was no laughter now, the party had become completely still.

"It wath him! He helped put the food out! I thought it wath a bit thuthpiciouth, a _Malfoy _doing thomething nithe for thomeone elthe-"

"Ron, Ron, chill out." George came forwards, grin forcibly in place, reaching towards his younger brother. "It's just a Transfigure Treat, I dunno how the kids got hold of them, but -"

"It wath all _him! _Malfoy mutht have thet him up!_" _Ron rasped, his voice a guttural and vibrating twang.

"Ron, calm down, mate. It's just the boys having a joke. I'm George can get an antidote," Harry said, putting his hand on Ron's shoulder, but it was shrugged off.

"You will drop your wand, do you understand?" Malfoy said, his voice and expression glacial. "Scorp's already told me what he overheard you saying about us, but I was willing to overlook it tonight, because of what I owe Harry. But this is too far."

Ron's arm began to lower but Hermione didn't relax, gasping as she pieced together what must have happened and realised what Scorpius must have overheard. _If, _that was, Ron hadn't been mouthing off to more than just her and Ginny. Malfoy nodded at Ron, his face set grimly, and turned away, back to face Scorp.

But he didn't see Ron's wand raise back up.

"Draco!" Hermione screamed, at the same time as Ron spat out a spell.

"_Incatherous_!" A beam of red light shot from his wand, but Malfoy had dived forward, pulling Scorp under him.

The spell grazed the tips of his hair and a few people screamed, a boy's voice shouted, "No!" and the group scattered. Hermione found her own wand in her hand, but she was sorely out of practice in combat and before she could react, Malfoy twisted his head back round to face Ron, jerking his own wand up, his face twisted and ugly.

Just as the bright, white light of a spell sprang out of his wand, Teddy Lupin broke through Ginny's grappling arms and threw himself forward with a yell, right between the two wizards. Draco's spell lit his face like a flash of lightening as it sang into the tender skin at the base of his neck.

"TED!" Andromeda's voice screamed, and Hermione heard her own voice crying out, heart wrenching panic shooting through her. She lurched forwards, towards Teddy, who was dropping to his hands and knees, but Harry got there first, hunching over the boy, blocking her way.

Ron glared at Malfoy, his pointed face twisted into a snarl, his wand clutched by two shaking claws, pointing right at his chest. "You've done it now, Malfoy," he hissed, his tongue lapping the air.

"What's the counter curse?" Hermione asked him frantically, but Malfoy didn't appear to either hear her or care about Ron's levelled wand. He was staring at Teddy over Harry's shoulders, his face bloodless. He took an uncertain step forwards, towards the boy now curled in a quivering ball on the floor, arms clutching his stomach, face turned to the ground.

Andromeda wrestled her way past Angelina and Fleur as if they were dolls, ignoring the crunch of her knees as they hit the grass beside her Grandson. Her hands moved feverishly across his body, checking for the worst. "He's violently shaking, is he having a fit?" She asked, her voice loud and unstable. She looked wildly round for Malfoy, who only shook his head, stripped of all cocky confidence. "Well, why are you just _standing _there? What have you _done? _What curse did you use?" She cried, the words hoarse and catching in her throat. "Tell me! Does he need - St Mungos?"

"He's - fine." Malfoy's voice was low, stuttering, his eyes wide. "He's just -"

"He's -" Harry said and gazed up at Malfoy. His profile was etched in disbelief. "He's just - laughing."

"What?" Andromeda said sharply, her head whipping around to Harry. She clasped Teddy's shoulders, rolled him on to his back, and as his head flopped back on to the grass, he sucked in a wheezing breath and let it out in one violent burst what was unmistakably - laughter. Hermione's shock cemented her to the ground.

"_Finite incantatem," _Malfoy said quietly, stepping forward with a flick of his wand.

Teddy's body sagged and he lay panting, bringing up his sleeves to rub off the tears on his cheeks.

George let out a big shout of a laugh in the silence. "You used a _tickling charm _on my idiot brother? Priceless."

Hermione looked at Malfoy, and raised her hand, not knowing what she meant to do, but he didn't look at her anyway. His eyes were locked on Andromeda and Teddy on the floor, still as stricken as if it had indeed been a curse that had struck him down.

"Come on everyone," George announced. "Nothing to see here, let's leave them too it. Big, awkward family reunion about to take place. Oi-" he placed his hands on Victoire's shoulders as she tried to slip away, shamefaced. "Not you. With me, _now. _Bill, Fleur, let me tell you just what excuse your lovely daughter told me last week when she picked up these sweets..._" _

The group dispersed, but Hermione lingered, torn between giving them privacy, but not feeling able to leave. She felt wrong-footed and shaken by the violent spurt of adrenalin that still raced through her body. She turned towards the table, her back to the garden, and poured a big glass of wine with trembling hands.

"You should _never _run into the crossfire of two wizards duelling," Malfoy said from behind her, his voice raw. She turned back, unable not to. "You had no idea what spell that was - what it could have done to you."

Teddy pushed himself up, body still shaking with the aftershocks of the charm, batting away his grandmother's fussing hands. "I just - I couldn't let Scorp be blamed, that's not Gryffindor. I turned into him," his hair flashed blond as he spoke, struggling to his feet, "-and I promised that -"

Malfoy swiped his hand to the side and Teddy went silent. He took another step forward so he towered over the small boy, who quailed, his hair dulling back to brown. "Scorp getting blamed for a prank is _nothing _compared to you getting hurt, This isn't a game_, _this isn't about your _house, _it's real," he said very quietly. "You need to _think _before acting so - so foolishly_. _You won't always be as lucky as you were today." His eyes flicked derisively to Ron, who was allowing himself to be led to the house by a furious looking Ginny, his green scales clashing with the bloody flush of the unaffected skin around his hairline.

"I'm sorry," Teddy whispered, hands bunched at his hips, chin pressed to his chest.

"I'm sorry too, Draco," Andromeda said unsteadily, wincing as her hips straightened, leaning heavily on Harry as he helped her stand. Her aged face, usually so warm and open, was clouded with uncertainty. She bowed her head and said, weighting the words with uncharacteristic formality, "I should never have jumped to conclusions. Please forgive me, and accept my apologies," she took a deep breath and tilted her chin forward in the same way Draco sometimes did, "- to the Malfoys on my Grandson's behalf."

In the long pause that followed, Draco winced, and Hermione knew Andromeda eluded to ceremony that was beyond her full understanding. "Please - you don't have to - just don't worry," he said. Andromeda dropped her head, surprised. "I don't blame you at all. I know I have a reputation." He glanced over to Hermione for the first time since the fight started and met her eyes. She held them for a moment, but then broke the contact, shame engulfing her. "I'm just sorry that we met like this, Mrs Tonks. I had planned on Scorp introducing us tonight."

Andromeda smiled. She stood up straighter and wrapped an arm around Teddy who, although nearly her height, looked much younger than usual, his face still painfully abashed. "Come on then, let's forget this and start afresh. And call me Andromeda." She drew her wand, flicked up four bottles of Butter Beer off the table and gestured over to one of the tables on the far sides of the garden. "Let's get acquainted. Don't worry, I know where Harry keeps the Firewhiskey." Malfoy's stony expression finally softened into a bemused twitch that was almost a smile. "Come on boys, march on."

The four traipsed off, bottles trailing behind them in the air, leaving Hermione standing alone with Harry. She took a deep gulp of wine and met his gaze reluctantly.

"Hermione - don't look so upset. Malfoy didn't mean what you think he did."

She swallowed and grimaced. "Yes he did. And he's right, I really did think he'd hurt him."

"Well, so did I. And I wouldn't have blamed him for a moment. Ron can be such a -" Harry let out a deep sigh and turned to face the table with his wand outstretched. "Accio Weasley Wizarding Wheezes," he said, and an impressive range of food and a thin stream of liquid zoomed towards him. Teddy had outdone himself. Harry flicked his wand in a sharp sweep and it vanished. "I better go and tell Molly it's safe to come out. What a shit-storm this party's turning into. Hopefully everyone's still got an appetite after that." He started to walk to the kitchen door, but stopped when Hermione didn't follow. "Come on Herm, you know I keep Firewhiskey in more than one place."

He waited for a couple of seconds, but then with a shake of his head, he turned away, leaving her alone. She took another gulp of wine, turning to watch Draco reach out a hand to help Andromeda sit and then bend down and fold his legs into the seat opposite her, looking absurdly cramped on the little table. His hands flicked his robes out to settle down the back of the bench in the same sharp, confident way she remembered him doing at school.

Frustration, embarrassment and guilt over sat upon Hermione like the dead weight of a body. What was _wrong_ with her? He had only been here minutes, but already she was over-analysing each of his words, over-reacting to every little flicker of emotion. She was ready to verbally defend him to Ginny and Ron, but when it actually mattered, she had decided, with the benevolence of a capricious queen, that he he was undeserving of her charitable view, despite _never _having given her solid reason to doubt him.

She was worse than Ron. At least he was upfront with his prejudice, while hers apparently still simmered away deep down. It caused her to eagerly latch on to shallow, easy to digest evidences of goodness, that just _proved _to her how much he'd 'changed,' (as if he needed to prove anything to her anyway,) but as soon as a hint of something surfaced that reminded her of who he used to be, all the good would be instantly forgotten.

His new confidence _must_ mean that he'd enjoyed his dinner with Zabini, the lack of eye contact meant rejection, his insults were spiteful provocations, that _he_ had been the one to transfigure Ron, that he had _cursed_ Teddy. Hermione grimaced as she relived the conversation Scorpius had probably overheard. If that had been her son, what would she have done? _So_ much worse than a tickling charm. She had to stop thinking in terms of _changed _or _good _or _bad. _It just wasn't that simple.

Guilt brought Hermione's glass to her lips, shame of her own insecurities tilted the wine back into her mouth and desperation to get out of her mind and just _stop thinking so much, _made her push past the burning in her throat until the glass was empty. She was in no fit emotional shape to be there, Orla had been right as usual, but here she was anyway and she was going to have make the most of it. The first step was Firewhiskey and the next was taking a cue from Andromeda and giving Draco the clean slate he deserved.


	22. Orange Peel & Orange Blossom

Chapter 22 - Orange Peel and Orange Blossom

The hot pressure of the little boy by his side was offering as much comfort for Draco as his open arm was for Scorpius. His heart rate hadn't slowed since he'd arrived, and it had only been with a prodigious amount of skill had Draco held on to his mother's old tips on making a late but spectacular entrance, helped, no doubt, by the wine he'd consumed on Zabini's expense. _Stop thinking about the meeting. Smile. Walk slowly, like you deserve to be here. Don't look closely at anyone._

But Scorpius clenched his fingers into Draco's arms too tightly in greeting, his face and eyes were red, his words were expected in a terrible sort of way. Draco forgot to think about what Blaise Zabini could want with Hermione Granger.

His temper was controlled, his rage: cold, exact, hidden. Warmed up from the performance he'd given over dinner, concentrated by the shock of hearing his usually so benign son whisper a desire to inflict pain, focused by the scent of jasmine he found on Hermione's skin. He'd known what to do, Weasley had been as easy to work as he remembered. It would have been perfect, if not for one complication.

Teddy Lupin now sat opposite him, mirroring Scorpius and hugging close to his grandmother, but he glanced away each time Draco caught his eye. What Teddy and Draco knew, unlike everyone else, was how much the Rictusempra Charm could actually hurt, if cast with real venom.

Tar-thick air wrung from lungs too wracked by spasms to re-inflate, abdominal muscles ripping, throat, cheeks, eyes, burning, raw and choked with tears, helpless against the violent compulsion to _laugh_, and all the while, half-conscious of an audience witnessing you at your most gasping, drooling, hysterically, shamefully vulnerable_._

But with each blasé shrug to whomever stopped by their table, Teddy was covering for Draco as much as he had for Scorpius and seemed too shaken or scared to look Draco straight in the eye, but would smile and shake his head occasionally at the constant and rapturous admiration Scorpius was expressing in him. His son had gained far more than an ally in this place, and Draco suspected it went further than typical Gryffindor nobility.

How had things escalated so fast? And what would happen to Scorpius tomorrow morning when the boy he was making eyes at was making his way six hundred miles to the north?

Draco squeezed his fingers into Scorpius's arm and tuned into the conversation.

"Cissy and I crept downstairs from our old playroom, in the middle of our parent's party and I cast the Ventriloquist Charm on her and levitated her up,"

"In the _holidays?" _Scorpius whispered.

"Well, perhaps this was just a weekend in term time,"

"Whatever Gran."

Andromeda ignored Teddy and continued to address Scorpius. "And your grandmother was so tiny she hid on the top shelf of our great grandparent's china cabinet all night, and didn't come down until the whole family was convinced a new ghost had taken up residence. One that whispered all the right sorts of secrets and had convinced two rather distant cousins that each was in love with the other, and another, perhaps more closely related pair, that maybe it wasn't a good idea to have another baby, based on how the last one turned out."

"_Cousins?" _the boys cried unanimously with identical expressions of disgust.

Draco hadn't thought of his other aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, in a long time, but it was to her that his thoughts leapt as he considered Andromeda, despite the witch's noticeable absence in the stories. It wasn't due the jarring resemblance she held to Andromeda however, but the difference between them that resemblance highlighted.

Andromeda's voice was as deep and rich as Bellatrix's once had been, the cadence hauntingly familiar, but while Bellatrix's had quavered on the brink of madness and rage, Andromeda's was earthed with a steady, measured warmth.

Andromeda's hands, knuckles swollen with age, were equally as expressive, but made round, loose motions in the air as she spoke, rather than the fevered squirming and cracking of Bellatrix's fingers. An unceasing rehearsal of curse motions, or a tragic grasping for the unrequited love of her Lord, Draco had never known which.

And as time passed, Andromeda talked with the boys, Draco half listened, the hot pool of Firewhiskey gathering in his stomach sedating the last reserves of adrenaline and shock in his blood, he came to appreciate how Andromeda was perhaps more like his mother than he'd first thought. It was in those small sideways glances, that certain purse of her lips as she listened, the arch her eyebrow made whenever Teddy said something particularly uncivilised. The love that was behind all of those gestures.

Where Bellatrix was frighteningly excessive, his mother was serene. Perhaps Andromeda had been the sister to bridge them.

Scorp's name was being called by shrill, excited voices and Draco felt him stir against his side. The group of kids had reformed by the trees and were bouncing around, arms waving frantically. Draco relaxed his grip round his shoulder.

"Go on Scorp. They're calling you," he said, but Scorpius shook his head and snuggled closer.

Draco felt a stir of unease. His son had never acted like this before. Their physical relationship rarely ventured past an occasional hug. Had the incident with Weasley unnerved him more than he'd let on? Across the table Andromeda had tactfully asked Teddy something about homework. "Are you OK?" Draco murmured into blond hair. Scorpius nodded. "The party won't last all night-" he began but then stopped as he understood.

Scorpius was distancing himself before they could do it to him. The best defence for those about to be abandoned. The guilt seeded earlier by Zabini over questions of Hogwarts stirred as Draco made another realisation.

The unfamiliar children could see Scorpius curled up against a Death Eater and they still _wanted _him to play with them. Which meant they didn't care that he came from a famous family of blood purists. Scorpius had been capable of overthrowing their prejudices within hours of meeting them.

Draco believed only at a school where no one knew the Malfoy name would Scorpius have the best chance to become whoever he wanted. Where no one would force him into adopting or enduring prejudices inherited from older generations. But here, in the garden of Harry Potter, was contradicting evidence. Besides, in what world would Scorpius ever become the boy Draco had been? It hadn't been an accident that Draco ended up where he did, more the culmination of years of effort.

The reasons Draco gave himself for not sending Scorpius to Hogwarts weakened with each happy shout that reached his ears. What was left in their absence?

Only the continued presence of Scorpius at his side and Andromeda's appraising gaze stopped Draco from bringing up his hands to press against his forehead. Instead he continued to sit, bringing his glass to his lips every so often. His eyes unfocused, his breathing shallow, the knuckles of his one fist under the table going white with pressure, the dreadful realisation creeping upon him that the decision to send Scorpius to Burbage High benefitted only himself and with it, the knowledge he was a worse father than he'd even imagined.

It was incontrovertible. At Hogwarts, Scorpius would be truly happy, probably in a way he hadn't been since Astoria died. He'd be fed regularly, have the structure Draco struggled to give him, would be shielded from his bouts of depression, be surrounded by his new friends, would sleep in luxury, wouldn't have to fight Muggles, wouldn't ever _shoplift _for food_._

Draco didn't notice Andromeda ask him a question, nor the way Scorpius forcefully banged a bottle of Butterbeer down in front of him in the hopes he would switch drinks. Even Teddy was sparing more than a lingering glance into the shadowed face of Draco Malfoy, but it was as if he wasn't there.

Blaise Zabini had been unusually absent from Draco's mind over the past hour, having had certain distractions, but it was to him that he now reluctantly and doubtfully thought. These were hollow thoughts, the energetic hatred that usually powered them sapped by guilt and the loss of the confidence that he knew what was best for Scorpius, and Zabini didn't.

Last night he'd told Hermione that his father would have destroyed any man who tricked him like Zabini had, but hadn't mentioned that wasn't without extracting every ounce of his worth beforehand. If Draco could let go of all of his egotism, his emotion and think about this pragmatically, just as Lucius would have done, then what was the right path for his family?

If fully embracing what Zabini was offering meant that Scorpius could have a better life, then wasn't that an obvious decision?

Draco listened absently to the party, his eyes glazed as his thoughts tumbled. Over the varied conversations he could hear taking place around them, the laughter and the shouts, he could pick out one voice easily, as if his ears were somehow already more attuned to the particular frequency produced by her vocal chords.

"Satellites, _no, _they're usually solar powered. That's er - yes, powered by the sun. Yes, with electricity. How? God, I'd love to know."

_She's starting to sound and resemble Pince. _Draco couldn't help shutting his eyes as he recalled the words he'd spoken to Zabini, completely forgetting his company, shame taking its place alongside guilt. In his mind he conjured an image of how Hermione looked tonight. Her lips painted a rich plum, her eyes dark, the smooth sweep of her chest and neck, her dress, liquid beneath his hand, the heat of her skin leaping through as if it were gauze, not silk. Even with the knowledge of Weasley's despicable behaviour pounding in his ears, Draco had known right then, he wanted her, and he needed to work as hard as he could to make her want him back, however unlikely that was.

When Zabini finally came out with what exactly he wanted Draco to get from her, as it undeniably would be the case, what then for him and Scorpius? If the decision was obvious, then he would have made it. But he couldn't; she was the reason.

Andromeda's hand brushed against his, startling him. He opened his eyes, dropping the glass of whiskey from his lips. The flickering lavender torch light didn't reach into the folded skin that encased her eyes, but cast the wrinkles that surrounded them into even deeper trenches. His mother didn't have crows feet, Draco knew, because she just didn't smile very much.

She tilted her head, and as the light filled the cracks, Draco was confronted with her direct gaze. In another startling similarity to Bellatrix, Andromeda's eyes were where most of her emotion shone, and just like with Bellatrix, Draco found it impossible not to break contact. They had the same intensity that made him feel exposed, but instead of the madness that stretched wide the heavy, recessed lids of Bellatrix's eyes, what he had seen in Andromeda's was concern.

"That's enough stories for now boys, off you go." Her tone brokered no arguments.

Teddy leapt up but Scorpius slumped further into Draco.

"Come on, I think they're setting up the Quidditch!"

"Go on Scorp. You'll regret it if you don't." Draco murmured. "You're the one with the best broom, you're obligated to crush them." Scorpius rolled his eyes but smiled, pushed his hair off his forehead and left after Teddy.

With a startlingly cold Scorpius sized patch on his left side, Draco finished off the Firewhiskey in his glass and poured himself another.

"Are you alright, Draco?"

He glanced away from the children to see her face was once again in shadow. "Do you understand, why I couldn't accept your formal apologies?" he asked. She frowned, perhaps unused to someone ignoring her questions. "Even as the Head of my family, that's not something I felt I could do, or want to, in front of everyone."

"I know, of course I do," she sighed, twisting her gold wedding band round and round. "I shouldn't have said that. I panicked. Teddy on the ground, it threw me."

"It threw us both."

Andromeda clasped her hands before spreading them on the table. She spoke with deliberate care. "I appreciate that you think those formalities ought to be between me and your mother. It isn't fair on you to make the judgement on what you think might be best. Based on second hand knowledge of events from before you were born."

The glass clinked against Draco's teeth, the liquid no longer tingled as it went down his throat.

"I've been trying to convince Harry for a while to formally recognise Teddy and I as members of the Black family." Draco looked up. "He doesn't understand, doesn't even think he can do that sort of thing, despite him legally being the heir."

"I don't understand either."

"I thought you would. Well, I did before Harry told me about Burbage High."

Draco grimaced, spotted Hermione in his periphery, as fleeting as a Golden Snitch.

"So now you know, tell me, why are you so keen to be legally recognised by the Malfoys, or Blacks or whoever."

If she was bothered by his condescension, she didn't show it. Perhaps she'd recognised she'd touched a nerve. "I still think it should be obvious." She took a deep breath, tilted her head, and once again he was fixed by that stare. "Your mother, you, Scorpius - you're my family, despite what history or the law says. I thought, if I was legally a Black again -"

"It would make it more likely that I would want to meet you?" Draco interrupted, frowning.

"Again, my mistake. I've been thinking about this for a long time. Long before this summer. Your mother and I, we had our differences, but so much time has passed. I want to make amends. You - well, we've never had a chance to even meet. As for Scorpius, it just proves how right I was to pursue this. You're doing a wonderful job, Draco."

He disregarded the comment easily. "But you were disowned, it was my mother who swore never to speak to you again."

"There isn't enough time in life to think in terms of who threw the first curse. I said some unforgivable things too. The crimes Narcissa did against me are nothing compared -"

_To what your other sister did, _Draco finished in his head. There were a few beats of silence.

"I can't promise Mother will want to see you."

"Of course that's a big possibility,"

"She's not well. Not at all."

Andromeda's gaze flicked to the glass he was rolling on the table. His hands slid to his lap, the liquid span in a whirlpool. "Scorp has already warned me."

"And if you wanted to see her, you needn't have come through me."

Andromeda smiled. "But I wanted your blessing."

_ As the head of the family, _Draco thought, and finally recognised the act for what it was. Andromeda showing him respect, in the way she thought he'd most appreciate.

The woman before him was nothing like Bellatrix Lestrange, it had been terrible of him to compare them. Her resemblance was growing closer and closer to his mother the more he paid attention to what she said. But their differences were still gaping. Andromeda was so whole, so healthy, in mind as well as body. Draco ran his hands up and down the rough wooden edge of the table, fighting the urge to pick up his glass. He leant in, meeting Andromeda's eyes fully for the first time, feeling some of the desperation about Narcissa he'd repressed slipping through.

"I've been trying to help her, but it's not enough. I can never do _enough_. There aren't even any potions I can brew that would lessen her addiction, they just replace it with something else. I've been thinking about the treatments offered by St Mungos, but-"

He lapsed into silence. But - the cost, it always came back to money. Curing a witch of an addiction to alcohol was one thing, but off a suspected addiction to muggle drugs? And for a witch called Narcissa Malfoy? Unlikely her rehabilitation would be funded by the ministry. Zabini's contacts and money came to his mind once again.

"You don't have to deal with this alone." Andromeda's voice was soothing and pulled him away from allowing his thoughts to tumble down that path again. "I want to help. I've got experience in dealing with these problems." Draco nodded, only half listening, bringing his glass back up to his lips, forgetting his decision that he had drank enough.

"Draco, I know I'm speaking out of line here,"

He leant back, swallowing and putting the empty glass down. "You shouldn't start a sentence with that. It never bodes well."

Andromeda gave him a wry smile. "I'll dive straight in then. I made my choices young. I accepted them, I moved on, I didn't try and change what I couldn't." She made a face at his raised eyebrows. "No, making amends with your mother and wanted to become a Black isn't trying to change the past. I didn't brood on what could have been, had I decided differently. And I didn't let myself become possessed by trying to control the future. I allowed myself to be happy in the present.

"There is a madness that possessed many in my family. Don't let it take you too, Draco. I can see you're struggling, I can see that it is with what is best for your family. While that is noble, don't let that struggle become an obsession, unable to allow yourself to accept happiness for yourself when it appears, blinded by constantly looking behind or ahead. Please don't let regret and doubt or fear make your decisions for you."

The party had blurred around him, the shrieks of the children as they took to the sky on brooms and dived through the dissipating golden loops of his message were indistinct from the murmur and laughter of the adults. He was too stunned by her perception and intuition to notice anything else.

She smiled. "I'm sorry, I told you I was out of line, but I didn't want to lose the chance that drink gives one to speak more frankly and gives one's victims the grace to receive them more openly. And besides, I feel like you're more receptive than you let on."

An echo of what Hermione said to him last night about Zabini played within his head. _"Can't you just walk away?" _As did the judgement he'd seen in her eyes once he'd explained his rough plan, that in hindsight had worked maybe slightly too well to Zabini's advantage.

He twisted round on the bench, searching in the moonlit garden for the sound of her voice, not hearing it but eventually finding her by a torch, sandwiched between a tree and Arthur Weasley. She glanced up as if she sensed his gaze, grimacing as her eyes lifted to Arthur who was pontificating at the moon, and then back at him. The message was simple. _Rescue me. _

"Poor girl," Andromeda said from behind him. He turned back.

"Weasley that bad?"

Andromeda laughed. "He can be, if you let him get going. No, did you see The Prophet today? They really went to town this time. I'm surprised she's here, she usually works so hard. I guess she just needed a distraction for the night."

Realisation crashed on Draco like a wave. Hermione. The papers. Their constant attack. Suddenly, it became clear. Something so simple he could have laughed. What did Zabini want with Hermione? It was _obvious._ What did anyone want for their enemy? Their destruction. How do you destroy Hermione Granger in a post Voldemort age? You destroy her reputation.

"Right," he smiled. Andromeda blinked. "I've got to go. And thanks."

On the flight over, Draco had come up with all sorts of theories as to how Hermione fit into Zabini's plans. They were long winded, riddled with holes and none made sense.

_ Don't be blinded. _Don't be blinded by guilt, doubt and regret.

_Mudblood Granger, stinks like cats. _He regretted everything he'd said, but he couldn't let that stop him from seeing things clearly.

Hermione had smelt divine when he kissed her hello, like the the jasmine and orange blossom that used to grow in the beds along the southern wall of Malfoy Manor, and still did for all he knew. There had been something else in her scent that in the heat of his earlier rage he hadn't placed. Something earthy and sharp. He needed to smell her again.

So why hadn't he? A couple of days again he may have chosen to re-adopt his plan of distancing himself from her with this new knowledge. But why should he? Why should he give more power to Zabini?

_Don't be blinded by constantly looking behind or ahead. _He'd been so obsessed by Zabini's past deceit, so caught up in doubting his decisions, distracted by the idea that Zabini may actually know what was best for his own son's future, he'd failed to add together the simple facts.

He ran through them again as he picked his way across the garden, though he was as sure of his conclusion as he could be.

_ Zabini re-enters my life, full of concern, money and promises, via a potion order that arrives the day after I'm photographed in Diagon Alley with Hermione._

_ He points out The Daily Post article back at our first meeting._

_ The accompanying photograph is published without me in it, despite how damaging that could be for Hermione. _

_ Zabini's overly concerned about my attitude to blood._

_He encourages me to spend time with Hermione, in aid of Scorpius, despite claiming he wants him at Hogwarts._

_ It's well known I'm related to Zabini by marriage._

What were the chances that Zabini knew about their venture to Diagon Alley from _seeing_ the evidence, rather than hearing about the incident as he claimed. Pretty cocksure to wave the photograph in Draco's face on day one, but Zabini was arrogance personified.

Everything was falling into place, everything fitted together. Draco was so sure, he hadn't felt as sure about anything else in his life.

The Daily Post was paying Zabini to help them take Hermione Granger down. Draco wasn't safe to approach directly, as in Zabini's words, '_No one knows how to handle you.' _That must be why the paper had gone through Zabini, as he had never displayed such 'unpredictable' tendencies like vanishing from society and sending a Pure-blood to Burbage High. Zabini thought he could get Draco on board with promises of wealth and power, but _only_ after he'd made sure Draco wasn't now a Blood Traitor, or still holding extreme Death Eater views, unwilling to even touch someone like Hermione. _That _was the reason why he'd been so relieved tonight, so much more forthcoming with information than he had been before.

It was why The Daily Post were holding out on publishing the full photograph. They didn't want to deter Hermione from spending time with him before there was anything substantial to report. They were waiting for Draco to agree to reel her in and deliver her for public slaughter.

Open your eyes, let go of the past, be happy in the present. Draco felt like he was flying again, absurdly light and free, Andromeda's words ringing in his ears with the clarity and volume of a bell. He had until the end of the month to make a decision about how to deal with Zabini, though delivering the final blow that was a _complete refusal_ to betray Hermione after leading him on was a given, and extracting every Galleon and contact he could beforehand was looking like a tempting enough revenge for everything. Draco couldn't make a decision about Hogwarts tonight, and he would deal with his son's inevitable sadness at being left behind when it came. Narcissa wouldn't be fixed easily, but perhaps, Andromeda would come through. But again, not tonight.

What was here tonight, what was here before him right now, was the most beautiful witch at the party mouthing _come here, _at him with desperation, while he dawdled at the food table, filling two paper plates, laughing as she feigned falling asleep as the old man continued to talk and gesture at the sky. He might be doing exactly what Zabini asked of him, but he was doing it purely for his own reasons, and he was going to make sure, with absolute certainty, that neither Zabini nor any of the news editors in Diagon Alley would profit from that decision.

* * *

Malfoy was messing with her, Hermione was _sure. _But then again, she was sure she deserved it.

_ "Arthur_, I've told you, I can't explain how the images are transferred back to earth. It's beyond my knowledge, I'm sorry."

Arthur Weasley squinted at the sky, leaning in closer. "And you say, these, er, salaglitescan be seen by the naked eye?" Hermione's head hit the tree behind her as she tried to avoid his awful breath. "Just, zooming across the sky? But why hadn't I noticed them before?"

"I can't tell you that." Breathing through her mouth, she looked past Arthur to see Malfoy leant against the table, shaking his head, a cocktail stick held between grinning teeth.

"_Please," _she mouthed, but his smile only grew wider. He was enjoying her misfortune. He was sick, twisted, a bully. But she knew that already and she didn't care. Relief that he didn't seem to be offended by her earlier behaviour was drowning out everything else. "_I hate you," _she mouthed.

It worked, thank god_. _He rolled his eyes, and smirking, levitated two plates and began to stroll towards them, a paper cup in each hand. Hermione's stomach did a nervous, hungry flip.

"Mr Weasley," he said with a curt nod to the man's back.

Arthur jumped away, Hermione finally had space to breath. "Malfoy!" he said, straightening his robes.

"Malfoy," Hermione said, raising her eyebrows, fighting the urge to grin, ignoring the plate hovering by his side. "What can we help you with?"

"Well, I noticed that you hadn't eaten yet. Care to join me?"

"Arthur and I were having a fascinating discussion about reconnaissance satellites. I'm not sure we were quite finished." He'd made her beg, how would it feel to have that returned?

His lips twitched, he glanced at Arthur. "My understanding of the world of muggle technology is that it is so vast and therefore impregnable, it's best to accept it all on face value."

"But how can you expect to understand anything with that kind of attitude?" Hermione said, before she could think better.

"Better to have a deep knowledge on a couple of subjects, than a superficial grasp on many," Malfoy replied. Hermione bit her tongue. "Food?"

"I think I can see Molly coming. I best be off Hermione," Arthur said. He ducked between them, giving Malfoy an awkward sort of nod as he passed. "I'm sorry about my son, Malfoy. Ron has always been a bit hot headed."

The smile Malfoy gave him made Hermione look away. It couldn't have been more false. "Not at all, Mr Weasley."

"Reconnaissance satellites?" Malfoy asked, when they were alone. The tables were full and they'd forgone the other option: beanbags, a decision for which Hermione was very grateful. No one could sit gracefully on one of those. Instead, ignoring the gazes directed their way, Hermione led Malfoy to a secluded corner of the lawn, and sat with her back to the garden at at one end of a cushioned picnic blanket, sandals slid off, her legs folded beneath her, while Draco sat on the other side. It was impossible to think of him as Malfoy in that moment, his dress robes crumpled, long legs crossed beneath him, trousers pulled up to reveal three inches of thin, hairy ankle and _no socks _beneath his polished leather shoes.

He saw her looking, and if they had more than just the moon to light them, Hermione wondered whether she was right in thinking two patches of colour had appeared high on his cheeks. He certainly looked uncomfortable. She smiled, and looked at her plate.

"Does my lack of socks amuse you, Granger?"

"No! Well, yes, slightly." She chanced a look at his face. She was relieved to see at least one side of his mouth looked like it was fighting a smile.

"I'm glad my sartorial malfunction has brought joy to at least one person. So, reconnaissance satellites?"

She decided to let the sock issue go, despite how much more interesting that was to talking about this, _again. _"Did you see The Prophet today?" He shook his head. It was nice, spending time with someone who paid so little attention to the news. "Well, this was all top secret but since every other witch and wizard in Britain knows, I may as well let you on it too. I managed to secure a big donation for the school from a Mr Montgomery, a Muggle-born." Draco frowned so she elaborated. "Burbage High is state funded, but we also survive a little on charity."

"No, I understand, but this doesn't happen to be the donation you told me about?"

Hermione gaped, it was_. _She had completely forgotten. That day she took Scorpius to do his school shopping. In the muggle cafe. She swallowed and licked her lips.

"Hey, don't worry," he said, raising a hand. "You didn't tell me anything important. No names. Just that you were after something in his will."

Hermione nodded, thinking of Orla and the talk she had given her that afternoon on confidentiality. Jesus, that had been careless. What was wrong with her at the moment? How had she not remembered this? Hermione quickly replayed as much of the conversation as she could recall. Could someone have been listening _then? _Was _she_ the leak? No, she hadn't said anything incriminating.

"Granger, _relax. _I just want to know how you did such a good job. Managed to upgrade from a will bequest to an outright donation. Very impressive." He smirked, wagged his eyebrows and leant forward. "One might say you had some pretty good advice beforehand."

Hermione finally found her voice. "No, Malfoy. I did exactly what I told you. Showed him the school, told him the facts."

His smirk stretched wider. "Sure, I believe you."

She scowled, exasperated, pushed her hair over her shoulder and continued, deciding he could have the unedited, wizard _un_-friendly version of the truth. "Yes, well, anyway. As I was saying, Montgomery trained to become a satellite engineer after Hogwarts, after realising he had no future at the Ministry. His career culminated in the multi-billion dollar sale of his own commercial reconnaissance satellite company sixty years later. They operated a single satellite, called Lumos, mostly selling images to tech companies like Google." If Malfoy had been lost during that description she was upset to see he didn't show it.

"The Prophet reported that?"

Hermione laughed dryly. "No. Just what you can imagine wizards interpreting from those facts. Bitter Muggle-born, gets revenge on wizards by photographing our world from space. Sells pictures to Muggle government." She took a drink from her cup, disappointed to find it was only lemonade.

"No matter that all our buildings and settlements are unplottable," Draco said.

"Which has been conveniently forgotten by the paper. No, Montgomery's deep in with Hermione Granger, both of them out to break to Statute of Secrecy, bring in the Muggles and overthrow the government!"

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. And he looked it, all mirth vanished. "Was the deal formalised?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. Verbally, yes, but the final meeting at Gringotts isn't scheduled for another couple of weeks. I'll find out soon. Don't worry, it'll work out," she said with vastly more optimism than she felt. "Anyway, enough of that." He looked dour but finally, he nodded.

They sat for a little while in silence, Hermione found herself playing with her food. She hadn't eaten since lunch, Draco had been right, but now, apart from nibbling on a few grapes, she'd completely lost her appetite. "I'm sorry," she said, glancing up to find him watching her.

"For what?"

"For earlier."

Draco frowned. "For -"

She squirmed and looked back at her plate. "For thinking you'd cursed Teddy." To her surprise he smiled. "What?"

"You're feeling guilty? About that?"

"Yes. Shouldn't I?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why? You only used a tickling charm! I'd thought you'd used Dark magic or something!" While she spoke Draco selected a small orange from his plate and broke into the surface with his thumbnail. The aroma hit Hermione a moment later.

"But all it shows is how little you know me." He looked bemused. "I can't resent you for that."

"No, I am sorry, it's dreadful for me to expect the worst. I mean, god knows what I would have done if it had been my child."

He didn't reply for a while, and Hermione found herself watching his hands un-peel the orange, long fingers carefully and systematically working the peel off and round in a spiral from the top. He paused, moved his plate on to the grass and leant forward on his hands, stretching his legs behind him so his feet were off the blanket, and settling down to lie on his stomach. Hermione tried to pull the bottom of her dress down where it had ridden up her thighs. They were suddenly quite close. She didn't know how the shift in perspective made her feel. She'd never looked down on him before.

"Well that's where you're wrong." he said, businesslike, propped up on his elbows, continuing to work on the orange. The trail of peel was completely unbroken and now dragged on the blanket. "It's not dreadful of you at all. I didn't choose that spell out of compassion,"

"But - a tickling charm is a joke."

The peel fell to the blanket in a floppy, twisting pile. He held it up by one end. It was long, its width absurdly regular, his expression mild as he inspected it. He placed it down beside them on the grass, an orange snake with a curling head at each end. Draco split the orange and put a segment in his mouth. Hermione imagined the gush of juice over his teeth and tongue. Some was on his lips, he licked it off, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth. Her own mouth felt very wet, she swallowed.

"Exactly, a joke," he continued, as if there had been no pause. "What could have wound Weasley up even more? What hurts him the most? Not physical pain, he's an Auror for godsakes, but being made a fool of. Especially by me. Though a tickling charm's not harmless," he frowned and ate another piece of orange. "And I think it could leave long term damage if held for long enough. It's still a form of compulsion like the Imperius Curse. Though I do think he deserved worse."

"What stopped you?"

He considered a segment and then swallowed it whole. "Witnesses." Hermione stared at him until he laughed. The sound was deep, unselfconscious. She hadn't heard it enough. "Don't look like that. I'm joking. Or half joking at least. Showing up late to a party and cursing another guest wasn't how my mother raised me." He looked down at the remaining orange in his hands. "Scorp was pretty upset. I think he _wanted_ me to curse Weasley. I wanted to show him that brute force wasn't always the best way of resolving conflict." He glanced up, holding the orange out to her.

She smiled, and un-peeled a segment, their hands brushed, it was as delicious as she'd imagined.

The kid's Quidditch match was well underway. She followed Draco's gaze and turned to watch, but felt awkward twisted with her back to him. After a few minutes a tentative idea gathered strength, mostly from the large Firewhiskey Harry had forced on her inside, and eventually won against her common sense. She stood up, thrilled by her confidence, and knelt down to lie by Draco's left side, matching his position, her toes in the grass.

Their bodies were touching, it had been a miscalculation of space, but it was too late to move away, and Draco had barely stirred. Her heart was racing, she'd never felt as daring or uncomfortable in her life, her stomach pressed to the ground, her back bend as she supported her front on her elbows. Every cell on her right side was on fire in his proximity.

Draco didn't look at her as she shifted inelegantly about, trying to get comfortable, his eyes locked on the children in the sky, but he held out the last orange segment to her once she'd finally settled down. As the match went on, Hermione began to relax, finding the silences in between their occasion comments or observations going from awkward to easy and growing more thankful for the heat to her side as the night grew colder.

"He's a brilliant flyer," Hermione murmured, as Scorpius caught the Quaffle from a spiralling dive that forced her to look away.

"Of course he is." Draco smirked, glancing down at her. "Look who his father is."

Hermione shook her head, smiling. "You do know that he can't use that broom at school. Well, not until next year."

"That's going to be a pleasant conversation."

Hermione grimaced. "I'm sorry. Was it a gift?"

Draco bit his lip and returned his attention to the sky. He nodded. "His Greengrass Grandparents. Zabini returned it tonight."

"How was tonight?" Hermione asked quietly. She'd been burning to ask since they'd sat down, but hadn't known how to broach the topic. Draco's jaw clenched, his hips shifted, his legs moved away from hers. Hermione had to force herself not immediately start analysing. Her earlier decision to stop had done her a lot of good so far. "I know I'm being nosy, it's not any of my business -"

Draco shook his head. "It went as well as it could."

There was a long silence while she waited for him to elaborate, to return to the ease with which they'd discussed Zabini last night. He didn't. "So... You worked out what he wants?" Hermione was conscious of very possibly overstepping the mark. It was impossible to guess where that line lay with him, she felt like she was fumbling around in the dark most of the time.

Draco let out a deep, measured breath. "I've got a pretty good idea. And before you ask -" he looked down at her sideways, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. "No, he won't be getting it."

Hermione shivered, the damp from the grass had started to rise through the woollen blanket, the skin that ran from her hip down the side of her thigh where Draco had been touching felt naked in his absence. Draco frowned, rolled on his side so that he was pressing into her, to apparently free his right arm. He fumbled in his robes, awkwardly, his head bent into his chest, Hermione biting her lips, becoming ever more aware of how ridiculous it was to act like feeling the weight of Draco's body was normal, before he pulled out his wand.

He cleared his throat, locked his eyes back on the sky and Hermione felt an invisible blanket of warmth drift over her. She smiled. "Thanks." He nodded, looking very seriously at a goal James just scored and her smile grew wider as she realised how awkward he was over acting gallantly. Hermione felt as if his charm had sunk right into her chest as she turned her attention back to the sky.

Their silence was perfect, their exchanges easy. Hermione was at peace, the stress of the day that had nearly ruined the party felt as distant as belonging to another person. It was therefore a huge shame when Harry decided to join in on the game and almost immediately, Draco began to shift and grumble by her side.

"Of course Potter can't just spectate."

"It's, _Potter, _again is it?"

Draco grimaced, flexing his hands on the blanket, a few knuckles popping. "He'll always be Potter."

"Except when he was Harry earlier."

Draco ignored her.

A few minutes later Harry intercepted the Quaffle off Scorpius and Draco actually _growled, _his fists clenching_. _'"For fucks sake. This is a _child's_ game. He can't let anyone else be the centre of attention."

Harry was trying to get a high five off Albus who had his face in his hands. Little seven year old Roxanne hit a Bludger into the back of his head with an impressive _thwack_. A shout of laughter shook Draco's whole body, a cheer from George Weasley reached them from the other side of the garden.

"Go and join in," Hermione said.

Draco's head swung round, he looked startled. "What?"

"Go on!"

"No."

"Look, the others are." Ginny was already in the sky chasing Louis, Bill and George had disappeared to find brooms. "Malfoy, they're a player short for two full teams."

"I didn't know you knew how many players made up a team."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Scorp's looking for you."

"Johnston will play."

Hermione spotted Angelina shaking her head, clutching an arm. "She sprained her wrist last weekend."

"Flimsy excuse. Doesn't she know what Healing magic does?"

"You can talk."

"Don't you remember what happened the last time I played the Gryffindor team?" he said, ignoring her comment, an edge of panic now to his voice.

"You're not playing the Gryffindor team, and no, I don't, and I doubt they do either."

"I bet they do." Draco groaned as Scorpius spotted them with a shout. He ran his fingers back through his hair and knelt up. "I'm drunk. I can't fly, let alone catch a ball," he said through his teeth.

"No you're not."

"I am, I've been hiding really it well." He looked down at her, face completely straight. "It's not every day a woman gets me lying in the grass with my ankles out." Hermione was still laughing when Scorpius arrived, leaning off his broom, holding out a hand to his father, his face flushed and his words blurring together with excitement.

"If I'm on anything less than a Nimbus, I'm out," Draco muttered, and with one last hopeless look over his shoulder to Hermione, he let himself get pulled up and away, toes dragging slightly in the grass, the walk of a condemned man.

Malfoy had been right, his throws were off, his catches, unreliable, but every time he looked around to check if she'd seen him drop the ball or miss a hoop, the wink he sent her made it seem like it had been on purpose, as if not to make the youngest members of his team feel bad about playing with such a pro.

The new term was only ten hours away. Hermione had no idea what to expect, how things would turn out, but she did know the immediate future had at least one bright element, and because of that, she knew in her heart, that everything else would be slightly more bearable. Hermione realised she was _basking_ as she lay laughing on the blanket, her back propped up by cushions, wrapped up warm and safe in the cocoon of Draco's charm.


	23. Burbage High

Chapter 23 - Burbage High

"Make the thicker end longer, that's it. Now cross them over, the longer over the shorter, okay and wrap it under, back over. No, _over. _Okay, Scorp, just stop a sec, just watch me."

Scorpius let go of his red school tie with a snort of frustration and looked up at his father, who, sat on the edge of the sofa, proceeded to knot his own tie - dark green silk, embroidered silver Malfoy crest - with exaggerated, slow movements.

"While I'm relieved my demonstration seems to have perked you up, I've got no doubt it's to due to how ridiculous this tie looks over my pyjamas, and not because you've cracked the method. Try again."

Scorpius tried, and very quickly stopped smirking. The result was one end that dangled on his thighs and at his neck, a stupid looking stub, poking out of a very tight knot. Draco sighed, pulled him between his knees and untied it.

"Why can't you just magic it on?" Scorpius asked, resentfully aware of how whiny he sounded, particularly when his father's only reaction was a slight upward twitch of his eyebrows as he straightened the knot and folded down his collar.

"Did you eat your breakfast?" Draco asked, lightly brushing down Scorpius's chest and shoulders, as if finding shed hairs on his shirt.

Noctowl ate it. "Yes," Scorpius said.

"Good. Is your bag ready? Have you double checked everything?"

"Yes and _Yes!" _Scorpius shrugged his arms away from his father's hands in a burst of irritation. "You know I have!" He rubbed the heels of his palms hard into eyes sore from lack of sleep. "Stop going on about it!" He heard a sigh and felt the flutter of a spell pass over him. No doubt the type of fabric de-creasing charm his father was so partial to.

His wrists were gently prized from his face and he blinked, his eyes stinging far worse than they had before. Draco's blurry frown slid into focus. "Stop that, you're irritating them even more. And Scorp, I'm _not_ going on_. _I know we got back late last night, but tiredness is no excuse to be so petulant."

"I dunno what _petulant_ means," Scorpius said, untruthfully. "Why do you always _say_ stuff like that?" He strained against his dad's grip and bucked his hips, but strong thighs clamped him in. "You're so annoying! How can I be something, if I don't even know what it _means_?" He scowled at the wall behind the sofa, committed to this sudden desire to provoke his father. In his periphery, he could see him dipping his head to the side and trying to catch his eyes.

"Oh I _dunno, _Scorp," Draco finally replied, but he sounded weary rather than angry and Scorpius felt some of his defiance leave him. "Why don't you examine your behaviour and find your answer there. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he mumbled, thinking about adding, _just you, _but a quiet trickle of relief that Draco wasn't annoyed cleared his head a little and he refrained.

"How did you sleep?"

Scorpius shrugged. "Alright." He'd lain awake, tossing, turning, boiling hot and sweating until three.

Draco's fingers slipped down Scorpius's wrists to pull his hands into his lap. "And did you have any nice dreams?" he asked.

Scorpius thought about trying to pull away again, but his dad's hands felt warm and big so he curled his fingers around them instead. "Not really." Just one dream that he remembered, it wasn't nice, and in fifteen minutes it was about to come true. He dragged his gaze away from the corner of the ceiling, finally met his father's eyes, and his stomach clenched with a queasy pulse of fear.

His dad was about to leave him, at school, for the first time, alone. He'd know nobody, he'd stick out, people would laugh at his constellation name, they might even recognise his surname, know about what his family had done, know more than even he did, which admittedly, wasn't much. He _should _have asked, so at least he'd be prepared. What if they called him a Death Eater, the name the woman in the Quidditch shop had thrown at them and that Al had called his dad when they first met? And that was _before_ lessons started! Would they think he was an idiot when he didn't know the first thing about Muggle science? Or what if he was actually really bad at magic despite him being a pure-blood and having already tried out a _Lumos _on his dad's wand and what if Miss Granger had expected him to be really good? Or what if they all went on holidays abroad and he had to admit he had only ever been to France once with his Grandparents who he didn't even see anymore and would people want to know why that was anyway? Or if they all had their own TVs or mobile phones or -

"Are you angry about-" Draco murmured. "Are you - upset about the others - about Hog-"

_"_No!_" _Scorpius said, shaking his head violently before his dad could finish the sentence. He was refusing to think about _that _place. He focused his attention on his father instead, fighting the rising nausea. He looked unusually bright for this early in the morning, his chin was smooth, his hair a few shades darker with damp from the shower. He smelled nice, not like potion smoke for once, but like Muggle soap and the liquorice root and mint toothpaste they'd made together earlier that week. Scorpius had actually done most of the grinding and stirring himself, which, according to his dad, meant it was his _own_ magic that filled the toothpaste, it was _him _that was protecting their teeth from rotting.

"There, that's it. If you smile at the other students like that, then you'll have loads of friends in no time."

"_Father!" _Scorpius groaned, ducking his head, as if his classmates were already around to hear.

Draco smiled and brought up a hand to smooth across Scorpius's hair, but the action wasn't comforting and in a sudden attack of doubt the boy ducked his head down, batted his dad's hand away and dragged his fingers back and forth through his hair, messing it up from the neat, combed back style he'd _finally _decided on after ten anxious minutes at the mirror. He glanced up and saw his father's smile had faded. "You'll be okay here? By yourself?" Scorpius asked, feeling suddenly disloyal and guilty. But that had been a wizard's hairstyle, none of his Muggle friends ever looked like that, surely his dad understood?

"Of course I'll be okay," his father said with a brief frown and a squeeze of his hands. "Listen to me. You have nothing to be nervous about. You're going to do brilliantly, you're going to make loads of friends, you don't need to worry about fitting in, because they'll all be trying to fit in with you."

"That's not true," Scorpius mumbled, caught out at being read so easily, secretly relieved at the same time.

"It _is _true, Scorp. Just be yourself, that's enough. People will want to be friends with you. I saw it for myself last night. I've never been prouder of you. Now _you _need to be proud of who you are."

Scorpius fingered the crest on his father's tie with his free hand. A large M on a shield flanked by snakes and dragons, complete with miniature eyes and scales. Sanctimonia Vincet Semper, sewed in tiny, delicate stitches. "What, a _Malfoy_?" he said, sullen again.

"Yes," his father said. Scorpius caught a whiff of Noctowl's breakfast smoked salmon on fingers that gently pulled up his chin, dragging his gaze from the tie. He could see himself reflected on the surface of his dad's eyes: he looked serious, they both did. "Do you remember when I told you that people will hold our name against you? Right after the school Open Day?" Scorpius nodded. "And was I right? Did Al and Teddy and the others shun you?"

Scorpius frowned. Maybe at first, but not _really. _"Go on, you can say it," Draco said, his lips pursed in that faintly twitching way that told Scorpius he was trying not to smile.

"You were wrong."

"And proud of it," Draco said, breaking into a wide smile. Scorpius almost returned it. "You should carry our name with pride, forget everything else. To be a Malfoy _only_ has to mean that you are confident in the knowledge that you are someone worth knowing."

Scorpius thought about asking just what 'everything else' was, what being a Death Eater and having a Dark Mark meant, _specifically, _but found he couldn't. Not when his father looked so happy and hopeful. He remembered him as he'd seen him in his grandmother's photo album, age eleven, resplendent in black robes on the morning of September the first, presumably long before he'd found himself on the wrong path, hair shining platinum, one hand pointing his wand, a smile breaking through the rather haughty look he'd been trying to pull for the picture. Had that boy been as nervous has Scorpius was now? He hadn't looked it. Perhaps he'd grown up believing what he was only now telling his own son with any conviction. Because Scorpius had heard him say these words before, _be proud to be a Malfoy, _but it was the first time it sounded like his father actually believed them himself.

"That's all it means, Scorp. It doesn't mean you have to act a certain way, or try to be a certain person, but be yourself, and know you're already among the best."

"Do you really think that?" Scorpius asked, wanting to actually hear his father say the words, leaning into his body, the thread of the Malfoy crest silky under his thumb.

Draco nodded, bringing his arm around Scorpius, not once moving his eyes from his. "Absolutely." No flicker, no blink, just the fixed black of his dilated pupils. He wasn't lying. "Do you?"

Scorpius wavered, was he really among the best? Was this why the others discounted his family history so easily? He tried to think of his qualities that were admirable, that he didn't need to pretend to have. He was brave; he took on a kid a few months ago who Jake said was nearly thirteen, he could make his friends laugh, he was quite clever, with books but also with people, he was a natural at flying and sport and according to his mum, he'd been performing really cool accidental magic since he was a baby, which maybe meant he'd be good at on-purpose magic after all. "Maybe."

For the first time that morning, Scorpius returned his father's answering smile.

* * *

Once the small room his father Apparated them into stopped spinning and Scorpius knew he wasn't about to throw up his orange juice, he noticed a thin, middle aged witch with a cloud of wispy dark hair watching him from by the door.

"Scorpius Malfoy," she said, brandishing a quill.

"Yes." His reply came out as a whisper. He realised he was still squeezing his dad's hand, hurriedly dropped it and cleared his throat. "Yes," he said again, more loudly.

"Just a formality really." She gave him a brisk smile and marked the parchment on her clipboard. "You're our only student down to arrive by Apparition."

"Oh."

"I'm Professor Dickinson." She opened the door beside her and Scorpius was hit by a raucous wave of sound. His nerves returning in a frenzy. "Well, come along, Assembly is about to start. Prepare yourself," she said and left the room, dark green robes swirling at her ankles.

_Prepare yourself! _Scorpius looked up at his father and failed to hear what he was saying, for he was working far too hard to quell the mad desire to sink his arms into the robes around Draco's waist and beg to be taken back home. To their quiet flat, where they could sit down with a tea and talk about the importance of neat chopping or tackle some long division. But no, if Al could catch a train to Scotland, he could bloody well leave this room. Gathering the courage he just remembered he was supposed to have, he gripped his bag straps to his chest and walked for the door, his heart in his mouth and his stomach leaping as if it were a great fish trapped in his body.

Adults - because they couldn't_ not _be based on their size - filled the next room. The roaring fireplaces that lined the wall spat student after student into a swollen mob siphoning into a bottleneck at the far doors. The heat and energy in the room was violent, female screams and booming, reverberating male voices carried over the whoosh and spit of the flames. Students illuminated by green flashes threw themselves at each other, boys slamming fists and girls crushing into each other's arms, shouts of parties, Quidditch, holidays, friends, coursework and parents blurring into one throbbing cacophony. Scorpius stood, rooted by shock, realising there was only one exit.

"Mr Malfoy! Come along." Professor Dickinson's voice rang out over the rest and with a gulp of air Scorpius wrenched himself from the doorway before she could shout again, tucked his elbows into his sides and was sucked into the fray. It was like being on the Underground in rush hour, but _worse_. He experienced an elbow to his head, a surge in the form of an enormous boy to his right, his backpack was crushed hard against his back, he panicked over the safety of his wand, he stepped on a girls foot and she snapped her head down to glare at him. He slipped away, catching up with the Professor.

The witch moved through the room within a halo of space and Scorpius fell into it thankfully, heart racing and with his lower back prickling with sweat. "Mr Crowley and Miss Nightingale, please refrain from conducting your reunion in public," Professor Dickinson snapped at a pair kissing fervently against a wall, as they shuffled past them towards the doors. "Mr Fletcher, shirt tucked in please," she told a boy who rolled his eyes once her attention had fallen to her next victim. "Miss Thomas, how many times? _Natural _hair colours only,"

"But, Miss, this _is _a natural colour," the girl replied, flicking a long sheet of lime green hair over her shoulders.

"Only if you are a Mermaid, Miss Thomas. Change it by lunchtime, or it's detention," the professor called as she barged away. "And _please_ roll down your skirt."

When they finally passed through the double doors and into the cool, breezy air of the early morning, Scorpius put as much space as he could between himself and the mob. The huge London Plane Tree that grew in the centre of the entrance courtyard was a familiar sight and he approached it in relief, gaining his bearings, taking in deep, shaky breaths and dragging his hair back off his sticky forehead with a hand he discovered was trembling.

With its thick, flaky trunk rising high above him and waving branches stretching wide enough to cast the surrounding buildings in flickering, dappled shadows, the tree should have been ancient, but Scorpius knew it was only as old as the school. Only just older than he was. As he caught his breath, he came to a plaque at the tree's base he remembered seeing at the open day. _In memory of Charity Burbage. _The school's founder, he presumed.

The southern end of the courtyard was dotted with benches and smaller trees, ornamental Birch and Rowan sprouting from paving stones that gave way to grass and dirt after about twenty meters or so, where larger trees grew, closer and closer together until they formed a dense, warded woodland that Scorpius knew wrapped right around the perimeter of the school. Above the leaf canopy floated the tops of the derelict, concrete tower blocks of the Muggle social housing estate that originally stood on the site, transfigured, transported and saturated with spells and wards to form the main fortification against the eight million muggles that surrounded their island of magic.

Here and there a student appeared from the shadows of the trees, some jogging towards the courtyard, stuffing headphones or phones into their bags and shrugging on robes. Their haste jolted Scorpius out of his daze and he turned back towards the school, spotting Professor Dickinson in the far corner of the courtyard, holding court to a large group of what looked like other first years, with a balding, rotund wizard with round spectacles, pink cheeks and mustard tweed robes standing to her side. Scorpius jogged over to join them, feeling self-conscious as Professor Dickinson pointed the wizard's attention towards him and quite a few students turned and watched him approach.

"We're all here. Excellent," announced the wizard, while Scorp joined the group at the back, trying to sort out his hair and avoiding meeting everyone's eyes. "Welcome to Burbage High! I'm Professor Dewsnap, I'll have the great honour of being the tutor to the half of you here in form A. I am also a member of the Charms Department and this -"

"I am Professor Dickinson," the witch interrupted calmly. Professor Dewsnap dabbed the side of his neck with a white handkerchief and smiled. "And I'll be responsible for the other half of you in form B. I am also an Arithmancy Professor. Or Maths," she added with a resigned look at the blank faces around Scorpius. "Since it's the first day of term, the whole school will meet in the Hall for a welcome assembly, before heading to their forms for registration, and for you, to begin your introduction to the school and to magic. You were, of course, informed by post of your form and house." She gave them a stern look as if daring anyone to counteract this. "Does anyone _not _know this information?"

The children's answering silence was violently interrupted by the shrill ringing of a bell. Scorpius, and most of those around him, jumped.

"Brilliant! We've got a real organised bunch this time!" Professor Dewsnap said, beaming. He reminded Scorpius of a giant teddy bear. "Well, as that was the five minute warning bell, we best be on our way!"

The murmuring sound of hundreds of voices forewarned the first years of what was to come as they rounded the corner and entered the hall. At least the long, winding route the professors had taken them through the school to get there had given Scorpius time to pull himself together. The sight of all those witches and wizards sat cross-legged in haphazard rows on the polished wooden floor didn't unnerve him nearly as much as just a fraction of that number had in the Floor Entrance.

After settling down at the front of the hall and with the horrible feeling of hundreds of eyes still upon him, Scorpius's attention was drawn upwards by the smart clacking of a woman's high heels. Professor Granger strode out from behind dusty red velvet curtains and across the stage, wearing fancy robes which he could only describe as the colour of a pale, clear early morning sky. The sound came from tall, black leather boots that vanished into the folds of the robes around her legs, and on her head was a traditional black velvet pointed hat, trimmed in a pale blue ribbon and with a large, shiny black stone set over the wide brim.

"Oh my god," the girl beside him whispered. "She looks like a _real_ witch."

"I've been reading loads this summer about the Wizarding World, did you know, she's a _proper_ legend?" another first year girl whispered from behind Scorpius. He tensed, sneaking a look at her over his shoulder, hoping she wasn't in his form.

Professor Granger reached the wooden lectern, raised her arms and silence fell. Wide, embellished sleeves hung down from her wrists. Scorpius could see the tip of her wand just inside a cream shirt cuff. She smiled, her gaze sweeping across the hall. Scorpius thought she looked at him and he smiled back, remembering how long she had spent chatting to his dad last night. And how happy his father had seemed after spending time with her, how bright and positive he had been this morning. He didn't see the intimidating Headmistress of his new school, or the legendary war hero Hermione Granger, but his father's friend_, _who made him smile and defended him to others.

"Welcome all, to a new school year." She had no need for a _Sonorous_ charm, her voice reverberated into every corner of the hall. "You all know me, of course, in one form or another, but this is the first time I've stood before you as your Headmistress."

An enthused wave of applause and a couple of cheers sounded from behind them. The first years craned around to look, seeing it was all coming from grinning older students. When Scorpius turned back round, tentatively clapping himself, he saw the Headmistress was trying not to smile, but failing, and waving her hands up and down for silence.

"Thank you. Hush, hush." When the clapping finally ended she went on, "I'm incredibly excited about this year. Whatever you choose to do, wherever you choose to go, I am at your service to help you achieve those goals. This is a great honour that I don't take lightly.

"Now, you'll all be aware changes to the syllabus were well overdue, and I can finally announce, that they have arrived. Too much emphasis has been put on keeping the non-magical side of your education and the magical, separate, but not anymore. For the first three years, Science, Maths, non-magical History and Geography will no longer be taught as individual subjects." Another cheer rose, even louder this time, with cries of '_yes!' _and '_finally!'_ scattered across the room. Professor Granger raised her eyebrows, lifted her hands and the noise diminished. "However, _If_ a pupil wishes to take any of these at GCSE level alongside or instead of their OWLs in fourth year, they may arrange with their form tutor to study them in more detail.

"Instead, Arithmancy will be taught from first year, the sciences and physical geography will be taught in a new subject called The Physical World, and will include modules on magical creatures and magical environments. Non-magical history will be studied in conjunction to events from the Wizarding World, and when the two impact or influence each other in a combined class. Cultural Studies is a brand new subject where we will study other societies, religions, human geography and philosophies from around the world, including our own. However, this subject is currently in the planning stages, but will take the place of free study periods marked on your timetable in due time.

"Art, Music, Physical Education, English, Health, and Languages will remain unchanged, and we will be offering after-school clubs to a range of other subjects and activities, including Divination, Drama and Astronomy.

"It may sound like I am putting even more emphasis on your non-magical education, but I'm not. You've chosen to come to a magic school, to learn magic and to be part of the Wizarding World. When you receive your timetables, you'll see that these changes have freed up more time to learn and become adept at the core components of magic: Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology and Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Now for the other announcements. Please put your hands together for our new Head Boy and Head Girl, Daniel Nettle and Sabina van den Berghe." Scorpius and the rest clapped, all twisting around again to find the subjects of Professor Granger's gaze. A grinning boy and girl had risen from a bench at the back, the boy raising his hand awkwardly, the girl doing a short, cheeky curtsey that gained a burst of laughter from the students around her.

Once the applauses and whooping died down Professor Granger went on. "I'd like you to put your hands together for our new transfiguration teacher, Professor Bidwell," she gestured to her right and an older grey haired gentleman stood, bowing his head to the polite applause. "Mr Roberts is the new football coach," slightly more subdued applause sounded and so it went on, announcements followed by clapping growing less and less enthusiastic.

Finally, just as Scorpius's mind began to wander, the list ended. "As per usual, it is my duty to remind you of a few certain things. Electrical items should be turned off at all times while on the school grounds and will be confiscated by staff on sight. It is up to you, of course, if you wish to check your phone while in the loo, but we will not reimburse you when it irreparably breaks, which, given the concentration of magic in these buildings, it will. Come to the office if you need to contact your parents, and they will organise it for you.

"I have been informed by the groundsmen that a colony of Bowtruckles have moved into the woodland over the summer." An excited whisper swept across the hall. "While the woodland belt is still free to play in during lunch and break times, please do attempt to find them, climb their trees or touch them. These creatures are peaceful, but will become aggressive if they perceive you as a threat. Please talk to your form tutors for further advice."

"As always, the derelict buildings of the surrounding Muggle estate are totally out of bounds. Not only are they physically unsafe, but the Muggle repellant spells and wards may be compromised if you are seen at a window from the public road. It is _not _worth the danger, to your personal safety, or the school's. If and _when _I discover you breaking into any of the buildings, you will be suspended. This is non-negotiable." Silence greeted these words but Professor Granger smiled, as if she knew something exciting and secret.

"It's also my _great_ pleasure to announce that the first ever, inter-school Quidditch tournament will take place later this term against Hogwarts School of-" The room erupted with noise and she was cut off. Scorpius was stunned. He'd be able to see Al, James and Teddy sooner than he imagined! Nearly all the other first years were looking bewildered by the fuss, but he met the eyes of one boy further down the row and they both grinned, allies amongst the ignorant.

The headmistress had to ask for silence several times before she could continue, although she too was smiling widely. "More information will be given on the sports notice boards, and try outs for the tournament will begin next week alongside House try outs. All years are welcome to compete." Scorpius's spirits soared. He could have _sworn _she glanced at him as she said this. He _had_ to get on that team! How hard would the competition be? Some of the older kids would have been playing for years, but technically, not _that _much longer than him. He realised that Professor Granger was talking again and he tuned back in, though his mind was still distracted by thoughts of last night's match at the Potter's, worries over his name forgotten.

"-It's all about choice. If you choose, you _will _be able to become the witches and wizards you have always dreamt of being. You are here because we know this to be true, and now, it's time for us to work together to prove it." She raised her arms, clapped and said, "That's enough from me. To your forms!"

* * *

"No need to take out your wands! You'll just need a pen or pencil."

A groan swept across the classroom and Scorpius dragged the zip, tooth by tooth, back over his wand. Out of his bag's main compartment he pulled his pencil case and after checking no one was looking, gave it a quick sniff. The wood was infused with a homely scent from its last job as a storage box for potion herbs and Scorpius felt some of the tightness loosen within his chest. He breathed in again, deeply this time, but glanced up and saw the boy to his right staring at him with an open mouth. Scorpius flushed and quickly put the box down the desk.

Noticing, but trying to ignore how all the other pencil cases around him were tin or plastic, he dragged his gaze across the bare pin boards on the walls up to the high window to his left. A paper plane drifted past, brilliant white against the blue sky. A bird flashed past, perhaps an owl. Scorpius ran his fingers across graffiti carved into the wooden veneer of his desk. It was mostly initials and shapes but a few rebels had added a couple of four letter swear words here and there.

"Right then, right then," Professor Dewsnap murmured to the silent children. "Register. Where are you?" He was riffling through the tall, dangerously unstable looking piles of parchment and paper folders that covered his desk. "Somewhere here... Oh, for Merlin's sake." He drew his wand flicked it and a folder zoomed towards him from the top of a filing cabinet by the door, hitting the back of his outstretched hand. "_Oh! _I couldn't have sworn..._" _He looked around, bewildered, and a couple of people on the front row giggled uncertainly.

The professor gave them a wink and then addressed the class. "I know we met briefly earlier, but let me introduce myself properly. My name is Oriel Eunice Dewsnap." He waved his wand as he spoke and to a few gasps, a piece of chalk began to spell out his name on the blackboard behind him. "I have been a teacher here at Burbage High for several years. You may refer to me, as you will all of your teachers, as either Professor, or Sir." He frowned, before amending, "except you'll call the female teachers, Miss, of course. You are sitting in my own classroom. There are three other Charms classrooms here in the cloisters, but since I am your form tutor, this will also be your form room. We will meet here every morning at eight for registration and notices, before your lessons begin."

He smiled around at them as he took his seat. "I'm sure you're all dying to start, but first things first, we need to make sure you're all here!" Scorpius sunk into his chair. "Just say, 'yes, sir,' when I call your name, and let me know if you would like to be called by anything else."

This was it, there was no more hiding. The moment he'd been having nightmares over all summer was finally upon him. The Muggle-born, normal-named others were about to hear his ridiculously over the top, traditional wizarding name. And, that was without even considering that there might be people here with magical parents, who might already know the name _Malfoy_. No matter what his dad had said about his name being a good thing, his friend's initial reaction had _not_ been pleasant.

"Lydia Mary Adetola."

Scorpius groaned. Professor Dewsnap was reading _middle _names, this was going to be worse than he could have imagined. He held his cheeks in his hands, elbows resting on the far edges of the desk as he slipped down even lower.

"Yes, sir," called a girl with dark brown skin and wearing a bright pink bobble in her hair from the front of the classroom.

Professor Dewsnap levitated a blue notebook off the top of a pile on his desk and sent it sailing towards Lydia. "That is your homework diary with your timetable printed on the inside cover. Write your name on the front and keep it very safe."

"Yes sir, thank you." Scorpius could see the girl studying the book, a smile evident even from the oblique angle he sat to her.

"Peter Brian Chen."

"Yes, sir. Please, it's Pete," called the bespectacled, round faced boy to Scorpius's right.

"Fintan Patrick Cockerham."

"It's Finn." _Imagine wanting to be called, 'end,' _Scorpius thought, distracted from anticipating his own doom, feeling a bit sorry for him.

"It's Finn, sir," the professor corrected with a frown.

"Yes sir," replied Finn.

"September Eve Francis."

"Yes sir!" The tiny blond girl was beaming as she sprang forward and grabbed the homework diary out of the air. Scorpius watched her, amused. _September Eve? What kind of name is that?_

"Crispin Giles Hesketh-Dodders,"

"Yes, sir," said the loud voice of a freckly boy with a big, upswept mass of russet brown hair and a smirk. He offered no nickname and Scorpius began to feel his worry ebb. That name wasn't _so _much worse that his. Perhaps some Muggle parents were as cruel to their newborn babies as magical ones.

"Sinead Lulu Ibrahim,"

"Yes, sir." Softly spoken, big brown eyes and shiny black hair pulled back in a high ponytail.

"Celestia Lucy Loveday,"

"Yes, sir." Quavering voice, somehow knocked her homework diary on the floor, reddening face at the few giggles that broke out as she straightened up, clasping it to her chest. _She could come from a magical family with a name like that._

"Sufjan Roy Madek,"

"Yes sir, though I'd like to be called Sam."

By the time Professor Dewsnap lifted his eyes and called, "Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy", the blonde was sitting back up straight in his chair.

He took a deep breath and said, "yes sir, though I prefer Scorp." To his utmost relief his voice sounded confident and was the only sound in the room. He chanced a look around to confirm that no one was laughing. Incredibly, they weren't! But perhaps that wasn't a surprise based on all the strange names that came before him. He released his breath and just as he felt his muscles begin to relax for the first time that day, met the intense gaze of the boy who had rejoiced with him at the news of the Quidditch Tournament. Scorpius felt uneasy and turned to examine his timetable. Perhaps he wasn't as anonymous here as his dad had assumed.

Once Eloise Marnie Woodward had received her homework diary, Professor Dewsnap asked them to partner up with another student. As they left their seats, the desks and chairs began to shuffle politely towards the walls, causing several girls and boys to shriek. Scorpius wandered hopefully to his neighbour, Pete Chen, but apparently being caught sniffing a wooden pencil case was too big of a crime and the boy turned resolutely away to partner with Sam Madek. Scorpius stood, lost for a moment, but to his surprise, was approached by boy who he was certain was not a Muggle-born. Scorpius hesitated. For a moment he'd thought that the boy had recognised his name, but perhaps not if he was approaching him willingly.

"Hi, fancy partnering up?" Tall Theodore Spark had a sallow, inside look about him, his long, thin face was framed by lank, black hair that curled under his ears and he had a few spots on his chin that had the look about them of the recently squeezed. There was something about him that just seemed... A bit unfortunate. But the smile he was giving Scorpius seemed friendly enough so he nodded and took the offered hand. Too much pale, thin wrist stuck out the ends of Theodore's robes and their clammy palms slid against each other as they shook.

"Everyone found a friend? Excellent!" said Professor Dewsnap, coming before the desk to stand amongst them. Scorpius lay his hand on his robes and scrunched the fabric, trying to absorb the moisture in a subtle way as possible. "Now, what I would like you to do is to interview each other, for ten minutes total. I want you to find out anything you can about your partner. What their favourite food is, if they did anything fun over the summer, if they have a favourite Muggle film, or Wizarding game, what is the magic they are most excited about learning here at Burbage. Whatever you might think we'd all be interested to know. Once the times up, you will tell the class about your partner! Feel free to take a seat on the chairs, the floor, wherever you're most comfortable."

Theodore Spark had a half-blood mother, and a father who, while was not a pure-blood - and these words were spoken with a certain deference that made Scorpius feel uncomfortable - could certainly trace their family tree back a couple of hundred years. Not that Scorpius had asked him. The information had spilled from Theodore as soon as they'd sat down on the floor. The other boy's dark eyes moved rapidly, and he spoke quietly, as if in a museum, but with such speed that occasionally the words tripped up over each other in their haste to escape and Scorpius had to lean in closely to catch and untangle them.

"We live in Norfolk, my mum's educated me and my sisters so far at home. My dad's often away, working. He's very busy." Scorpius nodded, trying to keep a courteous level of eye contact. "My dad's job is really dangerous, it takes him all over the country, I don't know if you've heard of him, Fitz-Lloyd Spark?"

"Er, no, sorry," Scorpius said, half turning his head, picking up that their neighbours had just discovered a mutual support of the same football team. _Chelsea? Are they joking? _Scorpius longed to jump in and tell them the strengths of West Ham but after a few seconds he dragged his attention back to Theodore.

"-though since the uses for Red Cap blood as a potion ingredient are pretty limited, and it's becoming harder and harder to find, he's started to, er -"

"Did you see the Villa match in July?" asked one of the Muggle-born boys, Sahib, or something, Scorpius thought. He'd watched that game around Jakes, it had been a humiliating loss. "Mourinho was _such _a fool, spending that much on Hazard."

"Yeah, Hazard is brass, but at least he was right about Tores," said the other, Michael.

"Not for fifty _million."_

Scorpius suddenly realised Theodore had stopped talking. "Yeah, er, sounds great," he offered, just catching the searching look Theodore had been giving him before it turned into a slight sneer.

"_Muggle _sports. Isn't it ridiculous?" the other boy murmured, glancing pointedly at the other boys. "I can't believe we have to play them here."

_So that's what's off about you, and why you want to impress me, not that you know anything about me. You think you're better than everyone else. _Scorpius gazed at Theodore in the same impassive way his father had looked at him earlier when he'd been _petulant_. Down his nose, with a very slight lift of one eyebrow. It worked, Theodore's scornful expression quickly dissolved into something more nervous. "Football's great," Scorpius said, once he'd decided the silence had lasted long enough.

Theodore's eyes widened. "What? _You _like football?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Oh, I thought you were a Quidditch player. I thought -"

"Can't I like both?"

"Er, well, yeah, I guess." Theodore brought a hand to his mouth and chewed on a hangnail, before dropping it back down as if he had just remembered some forgotten lesson on manners. "What did you say your dad does?"

"He's a Potion Brewer."

Theodore grinned. Scorpius hadn't noticed earlier but his teeth were crowded and overlapping, yellow where they sank into his gums. He could have used some Malfoy toothpaste. "So you aren't a Muggle!"

"No, but neither is anyone else here." Scorpius made sure to say the words as slowly as possible and with a greatest expression of disdain as he could muster.

Theo's grin faded. "No, I know they're not. I didn't mean it like that." He looked worried and Scorpius began to feel sorry for him, but then the boy asked, "But what's your blood status?" and his pity vanished.

"My _blood_ status?" Scorpius repeated, trying for time, not sure how to answer. On the one hand there was something about the prospect of telling Theodore about his family background that made Scorpius feel slimy, knowing how much it would impress him, but on the other hand, his father had instructed him to be proud of who he was. Although had he just meant of being a Malfoy? Or of being a pure-blood? _That _was the type of thing his Greengrass grandparents had always said was important, but his father hated that about them, so perhaps not.

But in that moment Scorpius discovered a tiny part of himself _wanted _to tell Theodore he was a pure-blood, and not just _any _pure-blood. A member of the Sacred Twenty Eight, a scion of a Noble House and a decedent to a Noble _and _Most Ancient House. How stupid would Theodore Spark, or Theodore _Drip _as he wanted to call him, feel once he'd realised who he'd been boasting to about his own unimportant family.

Scorpius smiled coldly. "I'm a-"

"Mr Malfoy," Professor Dewsnap's voice said sharply from behind him. Theodore's eyes shot up and Scorpius scrambled around to stare guiltily up at the teacher, the words and smile dying on his lips as the man's gaze lingered on him. "I hardly think the class would be interested in information like that."

"Sorry, sir," Scorpius mumbled.

"Theodore, I'm sure there's far more of interest to Scorp than his blood-status. How about you try a little harder? Scorp, try asking Theodore a few more personal questions. I'm sure his father is a fascinating man, but that's not who we want to know."

Scorpius slumped his shoulders as the Professor stood up walked away, rubbing a mark on the carpet where a desk leg had left an indentation.

"Sorry," Theodore said, and Scorpius lifted his gaze. The other boy was watching him anxiously. "I just thought-" Theodore reverted back to his mouse voice and Scorpius had to lean back in to hear. "-I just thought - well, your name sounds sort of magical, and um," he glanced around at the others, "I've never actually met any Muggles, or Muggle-borns before. Well, _properly_ met them. Except at my interview."

"_Really?_"

"No, not that I think that they're bad or anything," he said in a frantic whisper. "Well I've seen them sometimes walking across the fields near our house, but we don't live near any, and well, my mum - er, she's not well enough to teach me anymore, and um - as I said, my dad's business isn't great, and so _Hogwarts _wasn't an option. And my mum can't teach me anymore, er sorry, I just said that-"

Scorpius watched the mumbling boy before him, the feeling of pity returning, noticing the way his dark eyes flickered away whenever anyone nearby raised their voice or laughed. Theodore's back was hunched, and his limbs were arranged in such a way to make him as small as possible without actually curling up in a ball. Perhaps he wasn't that blood prejudiced. Perhaps he was just _scared. _Maybe more scared than even Scorpius was. He realised embarrassing Theodore might have felt good for a moment, but not for very long.

"-so I ended up here, which is alright i guess because it's Hermione Granger and my parents just seem to _love _her, not that they fought in the war or anything, but -"

"And what do you think so far?" Scorpius interrupted.

Theodore hesitated. "Everyone's very loud."

Scorpius laughed. "Yeah, I'd noticed that too." The other boy looked relieved and offered him a shy smile. Scorpius glanced at the clock. They had three minutes left. Time to make the most of this, and hopefully undo some of the damage to Professor Dewsnap's opinion of him. "So, do you have any pets?"

"Yeah. We've got a Jack Russell called Mabel, and a couple of cats, Io and Pi, oh, and our owl is called Ewe."

"_You?_" Scorpius repeated.

Theo laughed. "Like a sheep. I know it's weird but that's what mum said she looked like when she was a chick so it stuck. What about you?"

"I've got a Tawny owl called Noctowl."

"_Noctowl?_ Like, nocturnal?"

"Yeah, kinda, but not exactly. I don't s'pose you've seen a television...?

"Um, I know what they are."

Scorp grinned. "Well basically, there's this Japanese Muggle cartoon about magical creatures that have powers and there's this owl one who-"

* * *

Theodore Spark, or Theo - as Scorp discovered he'd been too nervous to tell the professor he preferred - who's favourite food was trifle, who wanted to become an animagus when he grew up and whose favourite Quidditch position was Keeper, clung to Scorpius like a shadow for the rest of the day. He was geeky and talked too much, showing teeth that made Scorpius feel both grossed out and sad, but at least that kept Scorpius from having to reveal much about his own family, so he wasn't such a bad result in a first friend.

It turned out there were six other first years from magical backgrounds, miraculously none of whom seemed to have prior knowledge about the Malfoys, (although if they had, Scorpius told himself later, he obviously wouldn't have been ashamed to defend himself or his father.) The eight of them seemed to gravitate towards each other, standing on the edge of the large group of first years that gathered awkwardly next to the sports fields at break time, the boys posturing, the girls giggling, all sizing each other up and comparing accidental magic stories in loud voices and throwing jealous, nervous looks at the second and third year boys playing football on the field.

The teachers must have anticipated this divide as for the rest of the day, the year was split into mixed groups while they went on more 'getting to know each other' activities and 'getting to know the school' missions and treasure hunts. And get to know, they did. The school was enormous, sprawling red brick and flint buildings, full of glass and light but also nooks and crannies and hiding places, tennis courts and greenhouses, covered in topiary, plants and trees, so many trees with vast branches that swayed in the windless air. Paper plane memos and owls and squirrels that seemed suspiciously more intelligent than normal moved through the branches overhead as the children ran through the school, the sounds of music lessons and teachers voices drifting through the open windows they passed. The walls were covered in student art and their sculptures were in the grassy squares, abstract people and creatures that tripped over themselves to help with directions and clues to their missions, and whenever the bell rang and the older students appeared, boisterous and intimidating, Scorpius quickly learnt it was best to avoid asking them for the same information after he found himself in a cobweb filled toolshed looking for a golden music stand instead of the orchestra practice room.

Scorpius found himself back in his form room, in a lecture on basic magical theory at three o' clock, exhausted, both socially and physically and utterly relieved to be finally sitting down. With Theo on one side, and the Chelsea fan, Sahib on the other, he let Professor Dewsnap's words, instructions of _intent, _of _imagining the result you want, _of _feeling for the magic in your wand and your body as if you were trying to listen and feel your own heartbeat, _wash over him. He'd known this stuff his whole life after all, and so had Theo, if the way he was doodling pixies on his homework diary was anything to go by.

Finally, as the clock neared four, when Scorpius's feeling of relaxation had long given way to boredom and he'd begun to envy Sahib for the way he gazed in fascination at Professor Dewsnap's diagrams on the blackboard, he heard the words, _take out your wands, _snapped to attention, and scrambled like the rest of the class, for his bag.

_This is it!_

His wand felt alive in his hand, all ten and a half inches of ash and unicorn hair, looking as beautiful and shiny as the day they'd bought it. Scorpius felt a sigh escape and quickly glanced around to see if anyone noticed, but no one had. Just like him, the whole class was entranced by what lay in their hands.

"It is traditional for a wizard or witch's first spell to be the Levitation Charm, and being a stickler for tradition, so it shall be for you too!" Professor Dewsnap announced, brandishing his own wand. "Remember what I said about casting spells. The correct latin pronunciation is incredibly important and you must match the right syllables to their counterpart wand motions." Scrubbing the blackboard clean with what Scorp guessed was a non-verbal cleaning spell, the professor wrote the words, _Wingardium Leviosa_.

"However," he continued, turning back to face them, "despite how precise you must be, remember, Magic is an _art_, not a science, and your _feelings _are also key. _Determination, _in this instance, and an abstract idea of what it would be like to levitate, a sort of weightlessness, if you will. I always imagine myself as dandelion seed, drifting on the air. Rudderless, timeless, with not a care in the world as to where I end up, dependant on the whims of Mother nature herself." Sahib gave Scorpius a nervous look that he did his best not to return. His father had never mentioned anything like _that_. Perhaps he should have been paying more attention to the lecture after all.

The professor took the lid off a box on his desk, waved his wand in a motion that ended in a snap, while saying, "_Wingardium Leviosa,"_ and a cloud like object floated from the box. He waved his wand again and the cloud broke apart and Scorpius saw it was made from white feathers, each one drifting lazily away to fall before a student.

"There is fifteen minutes left till the end of school. Practise on your feathers. Remember, Win-_gar_-dee-um Levi-_o_-sa," he moved his wand in an exaggerated display, "and swish and flick."

Scorpius stared at his feather. This seemed simple enough. He gripped his wand, tried to dominate his buzzing excitement with a feeling of _determination, _tried to balance this with what it would feel like to be a cloud - er, light and fluffy probably, a vague pointlessness, though wasn't that contradictory? - felt for the magic that hummed in time with his breathing in his chest and his heartbeat in his hand, spoke the words, drawing out the right syllables, swished and flicked - And the feather seemed to sigh. As if the gentle breath of the tiniest breeze had passed over its fluffy down.

He tried again.

* * *

Scorpius leant against the wall by the door of the Apparition entrance, looking back the way he'd come and catching his breath after having battled once again through the melee of the Floo room. Without a Professor's protection it was even worse than this morning. They _really_ needed to sort out a better system.

He shrugged his bag up his back, turned to the door that wasn't quite shut and heard his dad talking on the other side. His heart leapt in excitement and relief, just as the chiding voice of the Headmistress answered. Scorpius's hand faltered, thinking of his near brush with blood prejudice this morning. Had Professor Dewsnap reported him? Or maybe this was about his abject failure to get his feather to levitate.

"You _weren't _that bad."

"Granger, don't lie, you can't lie to save your life."

A spluttering sort of laughter sounded. "Excuse _me, _I can lie extremely well. And I'm not lying now. You weren't that bad. More - well, sort of below average. You did manage to score a couple of goals. I think."

Scorpius heard his dad chuckle and he relaxed. They were talking about last night, he wasn't in trouble. "Well, thanks for being so observant, I suppose. At least I know _one _person appreciated my efforts on the pitch."

"Who? George Weasley?"

His father scoffed. "His reactions to his daughter's unnatural aptitude as a Beater were completely over the top."

"Come on, Malfoy, no need to sulk," Professor Granger said, a smile in her voice. She was _teasing_ his father! _Teasing!_

"I don't sulk."

"What do you call your reaction to Harry catching the snitch then?"

"Being rightfully pissed off. Potter was playing against an _eleven _year old. Nasty trick to pluck the snitch from behind someone's ear."

"I don't think I heard Scorp complaining."

His father grumbled something Scorpius didn't hear and the headmistress laughed again. Scorpius decided he'd heard enough and with a backward glance to check no one had witnessed him loitering, pushed the door open.

His father and the headmistress were standing on the far side of the room, his shoulder leant against the ledge over the fireplace, her against the wall, both smiling, bodies angled towards each other, him with his arms folded and his legs crossed at the ankle, her turning her hat in her hands, one foot pulled back to rest on her toes.

They hadn't noticed him enter. Scorpius felt even more awkward. Like he was intruding on something, which was weird and didn't make sense. Should he announce himself?

"How was your mum today?" the professor asked, her voice much softer than it had been before.

His father's smile became slightly fixed. "She was alright. Took to the idea of seeing Andromeda far better than I expected. She liked the idea a _lot._"

"That's good!"

"Yeah, I guess so," his dad said, sounding uncertain. "Well, I've owled Andromeda. She's going over this weekend."

"Are you going?"

"I need to. Just in case -"

"What?"

"Well, things tend to unfold unpredictably around my mother."

Headmistress Granger nodded. "Well, Andromeda is as dependable as they come so I'm sure she can handle anything your mum throws. She was a rock to Harry growing up, even after enduring so much loss of her own."

"Dependable, I can see, but also _scary_," his dad said, smiling genuinely again.

"Oh god, I know. Did she get you with one of her _insights_?" His father nodded grimly and the professor bit her lip in a sort of sympathetic grimace. "She's _so_ good, it can leave you feeling terribly exposed. I can't say how many parties I've left questioning my life choices after having a chat with Andromeda."

"Why would you ever question any of those?"

The softly spoken question made the headmistress laugh. But it didn't sound like a real one. It sounded nervous, and his father didn't join in the way he should have done to be polite. "I was joking, Malfoy. Merlin."

His father didn't say anything for a moment, he just watched the headmistress until she stopped laughing and looking out of the window instead of at his face. "Are you okay?" Draco asked, using the same low voice. "You didn't answer me earlier. How did it go today?"

"Oh sorry, yeah it was great, thank you," she said with a smile that looked as unnatural as her laugh. "Today was a great success. Fantastic, we're off to a fantastic start." Scorp thought she sounded like she was making another speech. "Promising first years, excellent new teachers-"

"Granger-" his dad interrupted, but the witch took a step back, still smiling and shaking her head.

"Listen, I've got to get back," she said, moving towards the fireplace. "it was great to see you. Maybe we could do this again some time. I'd like that." She took a pinch of Floo powder, Scorpius tensed, thinking she was about to see him, but without looking around or waiting for a reply from his father, she stepped into the green flames and disappeared.

Draco stood still for a moment, watching the flames splutter and die, frowning gently. He looked sad.

Scorpius made the snap decision to pretend that he had just walked in. "Father!" He announced, pushing the door so it swung into the wall and dropping his bag to the floor with a loud clunk.

His father started, as if the sounds had pulled him up from somewhere deep. But Scorpius saw with enormous relief that the smile Draco gave him was a real one.


	24. Methods of Coping (Part 1)

"That fucking bastard!" Hermione scrunched the letter into a ball, dropped it to her desk, grabbed her wand and did the first thing that came to mind. She transfigured it into a fat, black dung beetle, slammed her fist down before it scuttled away, and felt its shell splinter wetly under the impact.

She stood and started to pace behind her desk. She needed Orla. She needed happy thoughts, happy, happy, fucking _happy_. She brandished her wand, spat out, "Expecto Patronum," and barely restrained herself from sending a blasting curse at the wall when not even the faintest silver mist materialised.

"Laura," she called instead, and when her assistant did not appear immediately, Hermione shouted again, trying her hardest not to scream. She failed on the fourth try. "Laura! For god's sake, get in here!"

Laura edged in around the door, holding out a cup of steaming tea to Hermione as if she were offering it to a wild dog. "Are you all right, Head-" she began.

"Yes, I'm fine. Everything is fine," Hermione interrupted, swiping her hand through the air, red sparks spraying from her wand.

Laura backed away, her back hitting the door fame. Hermione felt what remained of her patience fail. Her assistant was pathetic. Why had she ever employed a Hufflepuff? "Oh for f- for Merlin's sake," she snapped. "I'm not going to curse you."

Laura shook her head, staring at Hermione's wand. Her voice was so tiny when she spoke that Hermione wanted to slap her.

"What? Please, Laura, please speak louder. I'm failing to hear anything you're saying."

Laura cleared her throat and glanced at the door. "It's just, you're, er - bleeding."

Hermione looked down and saw half the letter still clung to the side of her fist. "It's not mine," she said, and managed to channel all of her sudden anger at the girl into a satisfyingly vindictive smile as she held out her hand to take the tea. Laura's gaze was fixed downwards as she handed the cup over and she was halfway out the door before Hermione could call, "Just find me Orla."

Hermione slammed the door shut with a flick of her wand and sat back down behind her desk, not noticing the hot tea sloshing over her fingers as she set the mug down. Laura was incompetent. Utterly incompetent. Weren't Hufflepuffs meant to be hardworking, unafraid of toil? What a false advertisement.

Hermione crashed her head into her hands and lowered herself to the desk. In her immediate field of vision was the brown smear of the transfigured letter so she shut her eyes and continue to fixate on the idiots she employed. The uncaring, money-grabbing, teaching for all the wrong reasons idiots.

But even as she listed the ways in which her staff had failed her, already, by only day three of the new term, the hot, sharp point of rage in her heart receded under the influence of something far more frightening. Something that grew harder and harder to ignore, an awareness of what she was doing. How could she trick herself into forgetting what she had done, project her anger onto fumbling, hapless Laura, when the knowledge sat fat, squalid and so horrifyingly real in her mind.

She had lost the donation from Montgomery. All those thousands of Galleons. And it was not the fault of the press, or the mole, or the WIP. It was all hers.

She had failed.

She, Hermione Granger, had failed at something so badly, the follow-on effects were almost too monstrous to behold.

She stood, her heartbeat frantic in her ears, the air scraping the back of her throat, as if oxygen had suddently leeched from the room. Hermione brought her hands to her face. She realised they were shaking. She dragged them through her hair, picked up her wand, dropped it with a clatter, pulled her hair back off her face so hard it stung, and tried to breath, huge, desperate, juddering breaths in and out.

Failure. She had feared it her whole life, as far as she knew it was still her boggart, but nothing, no vicarious experiences or nightmares could have prepared her for this. It was more than emotion, it was all-encompassing, instinctive, the throbbing tang of adrenaline reaching the tip of each trembling finger.

Hermione lunged for a drawer. When the papers and folders slid around beneath her scrambling hands, she heaved them on to the floor but still found no vials of calming draught knocking around at the bottom. There was nothing in the next drawer, or the next.

Firewhiskey. The last headmistress had left it. Hermione stepped out from behind her desk, catching her toe on the piles of paper. They slid out in a slippery fan before her and she tripped, but caught herself on the handle of the correct cabinet. Ignoring her throbbing knee, she wrenched it open, ducked down and saw – no Firewhiskey.

She spun back around and, spotting Laura's tea, brought it to her lips. It was cold.

The fight left her. Hermione sank into the visitor's seat, holding the full cup of tea steady to stop it from spilling. She noticed what she was doing and laughed, but found she no longer had the inclination to throw it against the wall. The anger had gone. She had failed at something else now. A real fuck-up would have found something to medicate herself with, or destroyed her office a little more deliberately. Now what? What would happen? Would she start failing at everything? Would people be able to tell? That something had gone wrong in her? That she had broken?

And she was distracting herself, again. Hermione breathed in deeply, opened her eyes, gazed around the papers that scattered the floor and heaved herself up. She turned slowly to her desk, lowered her gaze and focused on the reddish brown, bloody mess.

She picked up the end of her wand between tentative finger and thumb, reversed the transfiguration and, with tiny, awkward movements of her hand, as if she was scared of the magic, cast a Reparo. She realised she had been holding her breath for fear of further failure when she felt a bitter sort of relief at the sight of the little flecks of paper and dusk knitting themselves back together. A moment later, the tattered letter lay before her, Montgomery's writing just legible.

She forced herself to read.

_Monday, 5 September, 2012_

_Dear Headmistress Granger:_

_After reading yesterday's Prophet article, I realised that I had been given a false impression of what you wanted to achieve for your pupils._

_What benefit do you believe the proposed subject, 'Cultural Studies,' will have? At best I am sure it will appease some of your critics, at worst will give the newest generation of Muggleborns a taste for what can never be theirs. I noticed that the label, 'pureblood,' was not included in the article, but it is obvious to anyone what 'wizarding traditions' actually means._

_By the time these children are of age, they will bear the full brunt of the backlash against this current government's heavy handling of Muggleborn equality and forced quotas. A superficial level of knowledge of pureblood culture gained from study and observation rather than experience will only bring them further derision as they attempt to use it to get ahead. The pure-blooded wizard or witch will never look at one of your pupils and believe them equal to their own child._

_I do not think you are naive enough to believe this class will do actual good, so I must believe therefore you are introducing this subject for political reasons. Since I fundamentally disagree with using children in such a way, I will be revoking my pledge to donate to Burbage High._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Brian Montgomery_

It had been solely Hermione's decision to release Orla's latest PR effort into yesterday's Prophet. After Montgomery's continued silence after the leak last week, she had thought it would send a strong, powerful message to both him and their enemies, that business was continuing as usual. That they could not be intimidated, that they were a strong, confident institution to invest in, with passion and bright ideas that could not be halted.

But how had he seen it? As an attempt to work her way back into popular public opinion in a paper that derided him the week before. Malfoy's words of advice came back to her in an excellently timed subconscious form of self-punishment. _Appeal to his ego_. Although, really, what good would it have done to consider that before it had been too late? Hermione would not lie to herself and say she had forgotten what Malfoy said, but she could admit that she never would have heeded his advice. All because of her idiotic determination to cling to the Gryffindor way of doing things. And _this_ was the price of her pathetic, stupid pride.

Hermione dragged herself back behind her desk, swept up the mess of papers with a swish and flick of her wand and gradually brought herself around to confronting the next step: informing the School Governors. She began to draft the letters, her words sounding clumsy and guilt ridden, the quill feeling as heavy and unwieldy as if she were writing her letter of resignation. At least she did not have to admit to the leak of his privacy, and the presence of some unknown mole at the school, as it was not the reason behind Montgomery's decision to withdraw the funds. The Governors would not have to know just how incompetent she truly was. But - her quill dragged to a halt, ink began to pool – they would want to know just what she had been thinking publicising plans for a subject that was reliant on funds that had not been secured, not beyond a verbal agreement.

There was a clatter at the window. Hermione took her time to look up, but on seeing the owl, sat up straight, the quill dropping from slack fingers, ink blotting the desk.

It was Callisto. She swooped into the room, pulling fresh air through the window with two huge beats of her wings. With a guilty glance at the Governors' letters, Hermione reached forward as the owl settled and pulled the parchment from her talons. She stroked out the creases, her fingers and eyes skimming along the beautifully written words, a smile touching the corners of her mouth as she thought about her response.

But when she reached the third paragraph the smile and the idea of replying died as she was brought back into reality. Hermione placed it aside, on top of a small pile of other green-inked letters, and with a heavy heart and hand returned to the matter of the donation.

A short while later there was a knock at the door and Hermione abandoned her work in relief.

It was Orla, shutting the door behind her. "Is everything alright, Hermione?" she asked carefully, but her expression cleared when she saw Hermione was not spitting with fury or trashing her office or whatever Laura had led her to expect. "Laura said it was urgent, she said you…"

"Yes, it was urgent," Hermione said, emphasizing the past tense.

Orla looked affronted. "I'm sorry, I've been having coffee with a journalist friend. She's a massive gossip. You know – researching?"

"Oh, right. Sorry. Have you –"

"Found anything? No. She was a complete waste of time."

"Right." Hermione shut her eyes for a moment, her stomach clenching, feeling jumpy and full of acid. She opened them, Orla was watching her carefully again. She licked her lips, took a tight, tense breath, cast a non-verbal Muffliato Charm under the desk and said, "Montgomery has pulled the donation."

Orla brought a hand to her mouth. "Shit. Shitting Merlin," she said. "My Prophet article. It put him off, didn't It-"

"No," Hermione said quickly, anticipating the violence with which Orla's emotions could swing.

Orla appeared to relax marginally, giving Hermione time to gather her courage. "No," she repeated. "No, it wasn't your article. It was my decision over the syllabus. He didn't care about the last week's leak, but he hated the idea of a class on wizarding culture."

"Bugger," Orla swore. "What a prejudiced bastard."

Hermione gave her a weak smile. "Yeah."

"What… what are we going to do?" Orla asked.

"We'll be fine," Hermione replied automatically. Consistency was key, even if the words no longer held any meaning.

"But- I'm sorry, but how?" Hermione looked up to see Orla glancing behind her, back at the door into the school office, as if she would encounter hordes of angry teachers threatening strike action. The thought was not entirely unrealistic. Their reaction to Hermione's announcement at the Welcome Assembly on Thursday had been awful, and something she should have anticipated. Reorganising the syllabus had been one thing, but to surprise the teachers with a brand new subject in front of pupils had apparently been a step too far.

Upsetting, ugly phrases like over-stretched, under staffed and underpaid had been thrown around her office as she fought off their complaints, cornered behind her desk, unable to tell them that she did not actually want any of them to teach it. Eventually she had actually escaped - she could hardly call herself a Gryffindor - by Flooing from her office to the Apparition Room that day at four o' clock with no other excuse than needing a blond-haired distraction. Though perhaps one could argue seeking out Malfoy had taken a certain kind of bravery.

"There's no way to teach Cultural Studies without that money," Orla went on, and then gasped. "I'll have to release _another_ press release, revoking the last one! The governors – they were so happy, Hermione, what do we do?"

_What do I do?_ The monstrous feeling of failure that had been temporary subdued skirted around the shadows of Hermione's mind, threatening to overwhelm her again. She thought of her pupils, the ones who would benefit from the lesson no matter what backwards, idiotic opinions Montgomery held. And then she thought of Malfoy, and having to explain what she had done, knowing she should have listened to him from the start. The notion was unbearable.

So Hermione said what she would tell everyone from then on. "I intended to introduce Cultural Studies before Montgomery offered us the donation. The class will go ahead." Even if I have to up my use of the Time-turner and teach it myself, she thought with a bone-deep weariness.

Once Orla was gone, Hermione returned her attention back to the green inked letter.

_Monday, 5 September_

_Dear Headmistress Granger,_

_For the last time, I respectfully suggest that you change your mind. A wizard's broom is an extension of his body, very much like a wand. In a dueling class, you wouldn't presume to take away Scorpius's wand and give him some splintered five inch training wand just because his is superior to someone else's? It is the same principle with his Firebolt._

_More to the point, I don't think my ears could withstand another evening of Scorpius's complaints. The weekend was bad enough, thank you for asking. I'm assuming you haven't had the privilege of being on the receiving end of one of Scorp's tantrums, so you won't understand what I mean when I refer to that particular pitch his voice can achieve, but take my word for it: If you cared at all for the welfare of this student's father, you would reconsider._

_I'm incredibly curious about the mysterious 'Cultural Studies' class Scorpius blithely told me about this weekend when I questioned him about the free study period on his time table on Thursday afternoons. What is the nature of the class? Is this one of the changes you were working on throughout the summer? I would love to know more. From what he told me, it sounds very interesting, and not at all what I was expecting to be on the syllabus._

_I've been thinking a lot about the problem with getting your benefactor, Mr. Montgomery, to trust you again after the Prophet leak, and I believe I have come up with a few ideas. I won't make the same mistake again of forcing those ideas on you again, so let me know if you're interested in hearing them._

_Yours,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Hermione loaded her quill with her best dark blue ink and began to write, pushing the matter of of the unfinished Governors' letters to the back of her mind, taking her time to find the correct tone of Disapproving Headmistress, imagining Draco's response to certain words and rejecting them in favour of others.

_Monday, 5 September_

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_I would never give a student special treatment because I cared for his father's welfare, no matter how true that was. While I am impressed with the confidence that must have gone into that assumption, I most respectfully reject your terrible attempt at manipulating me into nepotism, and politely suggest that you teach your son on how to win the Quidditch trial using fair play, on a school broom. Also, your analogy to wands is illogical, no wand is better than any other, so long as it chose the one who wields it._

_I suggest you get your hands on yesterday's Prophet if you want to read about the Cultural Studies class._

Hermione stopped writing and shut her eyes, stroking the feathery tip of the quill down the bridge of her nose. How on earth was she meant to write this part? What did she want to say? So much more than the boundaries of their game dictated.

She wanted to say so much more.

Hermione began again, letting the words flow from her heart.

_But then again, that would be rather pointless so don't bother. You can tell Scorpius that the class will give him a superficial knowledge of the things he's grown up taking for granted. Because I'll be teaching it and we all know how I learnt about your world._

_I don't know how to turn down your advice this time without coming across as a bitch. I have to, I've lost the donation so it's too late for advice. The thing is, would I have listened to you anyway? You told me that first time we met at Harry's that I had a chip on my shoulder. Well, that chip has cost the school – and you, because I was going to offer the job to you, not that you'll ever know now – thousands of Galleons._

_I'm so sorry, Draco._

_I feel like I'm losing myself here. It's only the 5th but I already feel as though I've endured a whole year and every day I'm either blagging it, or screwing things up. And the worst thing is, it doesn't matter about me or my feelings – the real casualties are the children. I've failed them already._

_I didn't tell you a crucial part of the story of the leaked donation at the party last week. The information in the Prophet came from someone at Burbage High. They were facts that only I heard, from Montgomery's lips, in my own office. I don't know how they heard. I've tried everything legal to protect myself, I've even thought about using Veritaserum on my staff. I don't trust anyone, I don't know what to do. I'm terrified._

_The only thing at the moment that's good in my life is you. These letters, these interludes of peace are keeping me going. Please don't stop making me laugh, you play the angry father so well. Please don't ask me about my life, each time I lie to you I feel worse and worse._

_I wish you could know all of this and still want to come and see me this afternoon. But I want your respect. I didn't realise that until I wrote that, but it's true. What you're doing - caring for Scorp so well by yourself, what you're doing for your mother, bringing your family back together – it's made me respect you in a way I never thought possible. I'm so happy for the way things are turning out for you. I just wish, wish SO much with all my heart I hadn't been so – no word is strong enough to describe what I am – stubborn, stupid, arrogant? I wish I hadn't lost that money. You could have got away from Zabini and stop risking your safety by brewing Dark potions. I'm so sorry._

_Please come and see me this afternoon. I hope you will. But if you do, I want to know why you come by. It can't just be because I'm the Head of your son's school, can it? There is something else here. I think. I just really hope I'm not imagining it._


	25. Methods of Coping (Part 2)

Methods of Coping - Part Two

Two days later, Draco stood at the open window on the south facing wall of his flat, holding a glass beaker into the air to catch rainwater.

Technically, there were more efficient ways to gather this particular potion ingredient. Technically, the acidic London rainwater would not be that effective compared to the distilled Norwegian kind you could buy in treated glass bottles from Diagon Alley. _Technically_, the types of potions that needed rainwater were not really the types of potions he was interested in brewing, but if it made him feel better about letting his gaze linger on the ugly, white pointed Muggle skyscraper that sat near Burbage High three miles south-west, then none of that mattered.

Although for what audience was he even pretending? It didn't really make him feel better. He knew he was acting ridiculously, anxious over the delay in a reply from Granger, but the compulsion to waste his time watching the sky, waiting for her owl, overrode any internal arguments to be rational.

Diagonal curtains of rain hung over distant parts of the city. Low, grey cloud moved south to obscure the skyscraper and the visibility worsened, but Draco held his arm steady, resting his elbow against the frame when his shoulder began to ache, rain drops splashing across his hand.

It was lunch time. Would Scorp be outside playing football and turn up at four with a sheepish grin, covered in mud, or would the teachers force them to shelter inside? Hermione would be eating in her office. She probably had not even noticed the change in weather. Draco had learnt that about her in the last week. That it took a bit longer for her to leave work behind and to start absorbing external stimuli. He knew she was sharp, but neither intelligence nor magic could make up for a split attention. He wondered how much rest she got. He could not remember if she had been like that at school, but probably he would not have noticed either way. Now, occasionally, as an adult, her eyes would drift, stare for just that bit too long at the blank wall, her lips would shape the edges of words that had no part in their conversation. He would have to say or do something startling to actually get her there, whole.

Her half-presence did not frustrate him, as Draco found that he had more than enough patience, especially when the reward of her full attention was so sweet, but the ploys she kept using to get him into school early were just beginning to irk him.

It begun on Friday. He arrived at the Apparition Room fifteen minutes early, confused by her letter asking him in to discuss his son's choice in green ink. Confused, particularly because of how she had left things on Thursday. He had spent all night replaying their conversation, trying to work out what he had said to scare her away, why her eyes looked so glossy by the time she left. But on Friday she greeted him with bright, sincere cheerfulness, spent two seconds telling him the ink _had_ to be black, before asking in great detail about his family's traditions in celebrating the approaching Autumn equinox. And talking seemed to make her even happier, so he obliged. And tried to ignore how she skirted subjects concerning herself once again.

The Firebolt had been the reason behind Monday's letters, but he knew by this point they had exhausted the topic so it was with a nervous excitement that he Apparated in twenty minutes early, sure that it was another excuse. But, bewilderingly, the broom had indeed been what Hermione had wanted to discuss. Still feeling the slight sting of her polite but impersonal rejection of his advice regarding the donation, Draco had put on a good performance. Perhaps too good. He had not even been sure he had been flirting by the end. He now doubted even that she had ever been.

But she had owled him yesterday morning as if nothing was amiss and in the afternoon he had managed to steer the conversation quickly away from his son's uniform, having realised the game she was playing lasted only as long as he let it. But it was frustrating that it had to exist at all. Why couldn't she simply ask to see him, just because she _wanted_ to?

Draco almost brought his hand back inside, more frustrated with himself than he ever had been with Granger. He had to stop thinking like that. Out of the two possibilities, it was more than likely that she did have a problem with Scorpius, and was not at all flirting with him.

However, no matter how confused Draco was, he was perfectly capable of seeing that idea for what it was. A lie. No one could ever have a problem with Scorpius. And besides, if her mind was half occupied with inevitably more important things, then why was she wasting her time like this? If she had no interest in him personally, then why was her body language telling him something different? Was it that she did not want to admit to herself that she was attracted to someone like _him_?

And wasn't that a jump in the other direction? It was ridiculous to even fantasise that Granger was interested in him. What was he even _doing_? Fixating on something out of reach, getting a freezing cold, wet hand for nothing. He could not even blame it on boredom. Draco knew boredom. Sixteen or more waking hours per day in a cell for ten years had ensured that excuse was forever void. Besides, boredom would not explain his reaction to any owl-sized bird appearing from the clouds. A slight clench of his stomach, a hitch of anticipation in his chest that was nearly always too hasty, followed by a deep, brief disappointment that was crushed by immediate self-flagellation.

No, how could he be bored when he could imagine, in perfect detail, the way Hermione's dress strap had slipped down her shoulder last week as they lay on the grass, the bare slope of her shoulder and neck glowing like smooth, honey-coloured marble in the torchlight. If he had possessed a memory as sharp and as sweet as that in Azkaban, he would have been entertained for weeks.

But the memory could be so much better. If only he had reached out to pull the strap back up, let his hand linger on her back, to absorb the warmth he had felt only hints of on his side before he stupidly moved away when she asked about Zabini. When she leant her body into his, when he realised she was cold, he should have kissed her. Then they would not still be playing this game. Next chance he got, he would take it.

"Shut the fuck up," Draco said to the air, as if it would convince anyone who had heard that thought that he had not meant it. "I'm such a-"

He hit his head against the side of window frame, feeling suddenly exhausted, but though he wanted to shut his eyes he did not take them from the horizon.

Draco decided that the hours between eight in the morning and four in the afternoon, when Scorp was off at school, were too easily spent slipping in and out of a type of waking sleep. The moment he forgot to be self-aware and grounded, his thoughts would slide instantly from rational to dream-like, subconsciously disturbing parts of him that had lain dormant for years. Like the confidence that meant he could accurately interpret the way a girl leant towards him or touched her wrist while she spoke, the ease with which he could tell when a smile was flirtatious or amused, the way he _knew _he could get her to want him. That slip had been a perfect example. How many times, pointlessly, painfully, had he run through what he should have done at the party? He was deranged, slipping into madness in the way of the Blacks, just as Andromeda had warned.

A bird was flying towards him with purpose – something clasped in its claws – then it veered off towards the park.

Draco nearly went inside. But he could not.

Whoever said hope was a good thing was a sadistic fuck.

But that did not stop him from feeling it. His hope was quiet and constant, despite how irrational his fantasies could become. He hoped because he _could _separate fact from emotion if he tried. As it stood, he was certain Hermione was not doing this with anyone else. He was almost certain she was flirting back with him, _sometimes_, and here was the incontrovertible proof that there was something between them: No matter how impersonal her letters were, no matter how doggedly she stuck to her bullshit reasons for seeing him, she kept inviting him back.

There was another large bird flying north, buffeting in the wind, a stick in its claws, or – he waited a moment longer - a roll of parchment. Draco watched, stock still, until he was sure, and then with a triumphant shout the soaring, crashing cycle of his thoughts was broken. He moved out of the rain, set down the beaker on the table, cast a Drying Charm on his sleeve and began to pace, glancing every now and then at the window.

Finally, Callisto swept inside and Draco was showered with spray as she flapped her wings across the living room, coming to land on the arm of the sofa.

"Well done, well done, you beautiful, beautiful creature," he said, smiling and wiping the water off his face with his sleeve. "Thank you, and I'm sorry about the rain." He cast the same Drying Charm over the bird and she ruffled her feathers up and hopped to the book case, leaving a rolled sheet of parchment on the cushions.

_Wednesday, 7 September_

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_I stand by my argument that potions is no more than a glorified type of cooking. A potions master is a chef unusually preoccupied with the preparation and condition of their exotic ingredients. I'm sorry if the truth hurts. It shouldn't. Enjoying a beautifully crafted meal can take you on the path to true happiness far more effectively than any potion._

_There is a matter that I do want to talk to you about in person. I know you are very busy with brewing, but would you be free to meet me in the school Apparition Room at three-thirty this afternoon?_

_Cordially yours,_

_Headmistress Granger_

She wanted to see him, she had not even bothered with an excuse this time, and she had given then half an hour. Draco laughed out loud and held out a finger for Callisto to rub the underside of her beak against.

* * *

"You bought Sccorpius a _silver_ cauldron?" Hermione asked caustically. "He's in first year, not seventh. The list said pewter."

Hearing those words was so much worse than reading them. Draco pretended to smooth down the front of his robes while he sucked up the disappointment. He forced a smile and turned to face her. Hermione was sitting on the edge of a low, cushioned sofa that ran along the side of the room, wearing a red buttoned-up cardigan and a smirk.

He relaxed, his smile growing more sincere with relief. So today the 'reason' was a joke. "Only the best for my son," he said, managing to temper his expression into a smirk of his own.

Hermione rolled her eyes, though it did look like she was struggling not to smile.

He nodded at the sofa. "What's this for?"

"I had it put in at lunch – I thought if pupils or their parents were waiting they'd want somewhere comfortable to sit." She ran her hand across the arm rest. "I mean, not that there are any that Apparate other than you and Scorp. The room just looked so empty before."

"So I take it that because I'm half an hour early-" he raised his eyebrows and Hermione glanced sideways at him as he passed her on his way to sit down, right in the centre. "You want me to wait here." He stretched out his arms across the back and crossed his ankles in front of him, trying to appear relaxed. "With you."

Hermione laughed, but her eyes glanced away and it seemed forced, as if to cover up a lack of answer rather than because she found him funny. Though hopefully it was just because she was thinking about something else.

There was about half a foot between them, and although Hermione sat back, her body was held slightly forward, not fully relaxing against the cushions. Draco hoped it was not because of his arm stretched out over the cushion. It was too late to draw it to his lap without it being a big deal. He watched her profile intently, trying to gauge her mood. Happy to see him, but tense and distracted. He decided to let her lead the conversation.

"The silver cauldron," Hermione said after a few moments of silence. She looked round at him with an awkward movement of her neck and Draco smoothed away his disappointment just in time. "None of the other children had a silver cauldron. It isn't necessary. Scorp is already miles ahead in that class, I even saw him giving out jars of homemade toothpaste to his friends that he'd supposedly made all by himself."

"It is excellent toothpaste," Draco said and gave her his most winning smile.

He received a bemused look in return. "I don't doubt that. I asked to see it. It's an excellent-" she smirked, "- recipe, is it yours?"

"Merlin, you're so pleased with yourself for that one, aren't you?"

Hermione laughed, and it was a real laugh this time, her eyes lighting up on his words as if in suprise before they creased in laughter, lines fanning across her cheeks. It was a testament to Draco's self control that the achievement did not make him smile widely. She looked beautiful.

I'm not!" she exclaimed. He raised his eyebrows. "I'm not _that_ pleased. I'm sorry, Malfoy. I'm sorry. Did I go too far this time?"

"Comparing my noble profession to Muggle food preparation? Just maybe. And yes, it is one of mine. I'd like you to find a chef who could heal your teeth rather than rot them."

Hermione sighed dramatically. "That's the dream, isn't it? Guilt-free chocolate cake." She shifted back into the sofa and Draco tried to relax his outstretched arm. He could drop his fingers down to touch the nape of her neck if he wanted to. The thought made his hand feel strange, as if it were not his. "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is sugar," she intoned.

Draco laughed, though he was not quite sure what she was quoting. "No need to go that far. Just use my toothpaste."

"Thanks, but I'm all right," she said with a smile, which fell as soon as she realised what she had implied. "Oh no, it's not because I don't believe you. I'm sure it's great, I know it is, it's just-" She gave a curiously nervous laugh and looked away.

"What do you use then? A spell?" he asked, internally wincing. Why the hell had he just asked her that? Though at least this topic was better than Scorp's cauldron.

"What, then?" Draco asked when Hermione just shook her head in reply.

She turned back, her brown eyes wide. "Well, don't laugh. Promise?"

"Of course."

She paused, biting into her lip. "Colgate."

"Col-gate," Draco repeated slowly. "Is that from Claric's? He sold my mother a bad vial of rose pollen once so I've never been in."

Hermione gave that nervous laugh again. "No. No, it's from Boots. It's um-" She trailed off so Draco nodded encouragingly. "It's a Muggle toothpaste."

Draco was silent. He could not even fake a laugh even if he had wanted to.

"Well, don't look like that!" Hermione said. "You look like I've just admitted a dirty secret!"

"But – but Muggle toothpaste?" he asked, incredulous. "Are you _joking?"_

"No! No, I've tried wizard toothpaste, but the taste - It's just so herbal."

"_Herbal_?"

She looked annoyed. "Taste is very important."

"And mine tastes excellent. You should try it." He had just brushed his teeth before he came out. He toyed with the idea of telling her, but he could not imagine pulling it off.

Luckily, Hermione was speaking again and the moment was left behind. "Don't tell me you don't use Muggle products. I didn't see many apothecaries on your road when I came to visit."

"Well, yes, maybe some basics, but the potions required to heal and regrow teeth are a whole new form of torture. The pain is just- let's just say it makes taking Skele-gro feel like having a massage."

Hermione was silent for a moment while she gazed at him. He knew what was coming before the word was off her lips. "Azkaban?"

He nodded reluctantly. What a mood killer.

"I thought there were healers on site now?" she questioned.

"They have different priorities." He grinned, trying to brush it off. "Anyway, I needed something to keep me going in there. I would have these incredibly graphic dreams about peppermint mouthwash."

Hermione smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. She parted her lips, but before she could ask anything else about it, he said, "Muggle toothpaste, not worth the risk."

There was a small frown between her brows. Draco held her gaze, hoping she did not challenge him. It was obvious who really kept him going in there, he did not need mentioning.

"I've never had a single filling," she said instead.

Draco breathed in and out and smiled. Her kindness not to push it was incredible. "What's a filling?" he asked.

Hermione seemed to assess him. "You wouldn't be smiling if you knew, and let's keep it that way." He had obviously failed her test. "Ignorance is bliss. Malfoy, my parents are dentists. I _know_ how to care for my teeth."

"Dentists?"

"Dentists are like Healers, but just for teeth."

"How –" Draco struggled to find a word. "Curious."

Hermione laughed. "It's not, but thanks."

He was silent for a moment. Here was an way in to talk about something more personal than bloody dental care, a topic that had lasted _far_ too long. "Have you spoken to them since-"

"Last week?" she finished. Draco nodded once. Hermione turned her face away, up in the direction of a childish landscape on the wall. The grass was such a lurid shade of green that Draco could barely look at it for five seconds, so unless Hermione had terrible taste in art she was absolutely avoiding making eye contact.

"No," she said, after several seconds.

"Do they know about this place?"

Hermione looked back at him quickly. "Yes, of course."

"Do they know you're the Headmistress?"

"I-" She glanced away again, but thankfully not at the painting and did not say anything else.

Draco let it go for the moment. "My mother doesn't know Scorp is here. She thinks he's at Hogwarts."

Hermione nodded slowly. "I can understand that decision. How is she?"

"Finally talking to Andromeda."

"That's a start," she smiled.

"You should tell them," he said. "Tell your parents."

Her expression showed a split second of hurt, like he had betrayed her, before it closed off. Draco did not allow himself to pay attention to the tiny flare of guilt. He had not repaid her charity. He was pushing this. But then again, this was her life, her future. Azkaban, on the other hand, belonged in the past. It did not need to be discussed.

Hermione shook her head minutely. "It wasn't a decision not to. I just haven't – haven't had the chance."

"Then you ought to make it."

He had not meant the suggestion to sound like an order, but it was how she seemed to take it, her head dropping in surprise, her frown growing deeper as she regarded him. "You make the opportunity to tell your mum about Burbage High, then."

"That's completely different."

"Then why mention it in relation to this?" she asked pointedly.

Why had he told her? Because he had anticipated how she would react to him pressing her reluctance to re-connect with her parents? Despite how open she had been in his flat, he had since learnt that it had been a one-off. Since then, she had not even once let him in to talk about something personal to her. If he felt he needed to disarm her before springing a confrontation, was that his fault? But how could he say that?

Hermione leant back from him. She knew what he had done, it was in her eyes. She clearly thought he had passed a boundary, used tactics that were not in her code of fair play. But he wanted to tell her it was not that simple. She was being impossible to get through to any other way.

"Listen, I'm not here to talk to you about my parents," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I don't need your advice -"

Draco flinched on that word, _need_. It hit exactly the wrong spot. He drew back his arms, folding them to his chest. He felt the nervous, frustrated energy that had pervaded his week rising up, desperate to find a release, finding it in his voice as he answered. "Well, what exactly am I here for then, Granger?" He took a deep breath, struggling to get himself back under control. "Oh, yes, I forgot, you're here to lecture me about my son's cauldron. Fine. Silver is an excellent metal for a starter cauldron. It provides a steady base for most brewing, adds a clarity to the potion you can't achieve with pewter, has more stability in bearing extreme temperature jumps-"

"Malfoy – " Hermione interrupted and then took a deep breath, rolling her eyes to gaze at the ceiling. She shut them for a moment. Her hands twitched upwards as if she wanted to touch her face, but she managed to control the impulse at the last moment. "It specifically states on the equipment list that pewter -"

Draco could have laughed, her reply was absurd. "Are you joking? I'm not here because of my son's bloody cauldron."

Hermione rolled her head forward off the cushions, though she did not look at him. "Maybe not," she said. "But he needs a pewter cauldron, regardless."

Draco's temper finally broke. He shifted forward in his seat, twisting back to look at her. "And he needs to try out on a school broom tomorrow, and he needs to eat his sandwiches, and he can't ask me for homework help because that would be unfair on the Muggleborns, but he can ask me to wash his gym kit, and to encourage him to change whatever else he's doing wrong. What else can you think of? What will it be tomorrow?"

Hermione's hand was on his arm by the end. "Malfoy, I didn't mean - you know I don't think that Scorp is a bad student?"

"Why shouldn't I?" he demanded. Of course he knew she did not think that, but it was a necessary manipulation to get her to shut up about the fucking cauldron. A harsh tactic, but he was fed up. Fed up of his awful habit of waiting by the window for an invitation, fed up of the ridiculous feeling that had crept up on him since school started, that need for something more. That feeling that she all too obviously did not share.

"Or is it that you think I'm a bad parent?" he added, but as soon as the words were out, Hermione's eyes widened, her fingers squeezed a painful jolt into his skin and he wanted to claw the words back down his throat. He stood up abruptly, her hand pulled on his arm but he wrenched it free, feeling on the back foot more than ever.

He had not meant it to be an admission, just a provocation, but it was too late and he had just spoken out loud what they both knew was true, but were conveniently ignoring for the sake of her weird, confusing game.

"Malfoy, I'm sorry, of course I shouldn't have presumed - please don't think I think you're a bad father. That couldn't be further from the truth." By the sounds of her voice she had stood up too, but Draco could not look back.

"Forget it," he said, deadly quiet.

"No, I'm sorry, I can be such a bitch. You're so – you seem so together, I forgot about everything else –

He span back around. "What do you mean, everything else?"

"Well, you know, how you were – last month."

Draco felt the floor drop away as she said it. He turned away. He could not let her see his face, he felt completely unable to control his expression. Of _course_ she had been thinking about that. It was why she kept getting him here, not because she fancied him. It was why she was not opening up to him. Because they were not equals and she did not need to. He felt ridiculous. As idiotic as how he had felt after being tricked into working for Zabini. But this hurt _so_ much more. Their letters and meetings were not a game for Hermione. They were not playing at anything - it was because she wanted to keep an eye on him. Worried for the boy who went to a relative stranger for help when he was in trouble instead of his father, the man who was found wandering around Diagon Alley off his face on drugs, for whom she nearly had to do an intervention over because he had not left his bed for a week.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said from behind him.

Draco shook his head and turned back just to see her hands settle back to her side where she stood in the middle of the room. What had she been doing? Wringing them together? Fiddling with her hair? Reaching out to him?

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I'm just – I want - " but she stopped to bite her lip and did not clarify, 'just' what she wanted. Draco knew what he wanted, exactly what he wanted. He wanted to take back the last few minutes with so much fervour he would actually kill to get his hands on a Time-Turner. To say something funny and distracting about cauldrons instead. To provoke her into teasing him about overcompensating with Scorp, for buying him expensive equipment with Zabini's money and for acting like it meant they were rich again.

He wanted to draw her attention away from what a fuck-up he was, not point it out, so she would not be thinking about all those terrible things when she talked to him from now on, skirting around subjects and watching her tongue.

And he wanted more than anything take those twisting hands of hers in his own and breath in the skin on her wrists, and to feel her hands on his arms because she wanted to touch his skin, not to show her pity. To stop her biting her lip with worry because he was too busy kissing it.

But he would never know how she felt now. Draco could not forget what he had just learnt. "I need to go," he said quietly.

"Malfoy – Draco, please don't go, I don't want you to," she pleaded with him.

He turned back around to face her, gathering himself, humiliation stopping him from looking directly at her face. "I think I should. This - " he gestured between them, "is inappropriate. I'm fine. I'm _fine_. You don't need to keep doing this."

Hermione stepped towards him, shaking her head. "What do you mean, doing what?"

"Getting me here. I don't need you to do it. I'm fine. You can stop worrying now."

"What? I don't understand - Malfoy, I just told you I forgot about all of that. I haven't been getting you here because I've been worried, weren't you listening?"

"I heard you," he snapped, finally meeting her eyes. "I'm fine, better than ever, Scorp is fine, his cauldron is better than fine, you can leave us the fuck alone."

Hermione's face twisted in anger. "Are you deaf? Are you so deaf you can't even listen to yourself? Is this a pride thing? Are you _insulted_ because I don't want to talk about my parents? Well listen to this, Malfoy: I. Just. Don't. Want. To. Talk. About. Them.

"I'm at work, I'm stressed, I'm exhausted, two teachers have handed in their notices today, I have a cracking headache, half an hour ago a child _accidentally_ broke the window in my office because I told her she needed to change her shitty attitude. I don't have to talk about my parents just because you think you know what's best for me. Sorry for just wanting to enjoy myself in your company!"

Draco gaped as Hermione took a step towards him, flinging her arms through the air. "Or is this about me not wanting your advice about the donation on Monday? Well, I'm sorry about that, it's nothing personal."

"The donation?" he spluttered, latching on to it out of shock, as his brain attempted to process what she was saying, particularly that crucial part about enjoying his company. "Why the hell are you bringing that up? I don't give a shit about whether or not you wanted to take my advice. I only wrote that because I thought I could help, not because I have to be involved. Believe me, I know I'm the last person who should be giving political advice given who I am, and what I've done - "

"Oh god, here you go again, bringing up the past. Do you want to talk about it now? Is this a convenient time to address our history? Not when we're sitting here, talking like adults, but when you think you can use it as a weapon or a shield?"

Draco laughed, the sound strangling his vocal cords. She was going too far, way too far. "How dare you. I don't bring up the past as a weapon."

"Yes you do. Keeping me back from you because I couldn't possibly begin to understand your pain."

He flinched, speechless for a moment. "You have no idea what you're talking about. How can you even say that? Azkaban was - "

Hermione's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she was shaking her head. "Oh, I'm not talking about Azkaban or Hogwarts, I'm talking about just now, last month. Running away from me because I dared to bring up what happened with Scorp and Harry."

Draco felt stricken by her words. He had been certain she was talking about Azkaban, but she held his eyes defiantly and he floundered. That was not fair, Granger should not be able to twist what she said because she realised she had gone too far. She was meant to be a fucking _Gryffindor_. And he couldn't even accuse her of doing it because it proved her point.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he spat instead. It was the only thing he could think to say. "You're right about one thing, you are a fucking bitch."

Now she laughed, shrilly, shaking her head and bringing her hands to press against her cheeks. "I'm a bitch? There's something wrong with me? You're completely deluded. Please just tell me what that was, if it wasn't you freaking out the moment your parenting comes up. How can you tell me that you're fine? Talking to you is like walking on eggshells."

"Then tell me what this is." Draco stretched his arms out, waving across the room. He knew he was deflecting her accusation, but he was past caring. "What is that sofa for? Why do you keep on asking me here if talking to me is so difficult? Why do you keep making up excuses if it's not to make sure I'm still okay for Scorp? What do you _want_?"

She shook her head, opening her mouth to reply, so he kept going, not wanting to hear her answer. "And you think I don't talk about anything personal?" He laughed again, uncaring how mad it sounded. "What about you? Wanting you to talk about your parents isn't anything to do with my pride, can't you see how unfair that is? You aren't telling me anything about yourself. But why should you?" He was groping in the dark, trying to find her weakness, aware of how irrevocably he was probably damaging things, but he could not stop, nor did he want to. "You've just told me how these meetings are just a nice little way to enjoy yourself, a little bit of escapism for you, out of the awful day in the life of being Hermione fucking perfect Granger."

For the first time, Hermione was speechless. Her silence said more about how he must have hit gold than any words could have done. "As long as I can provide the right level of banter of course. Well, sorry I ruined it today, and wasn't the nice little distraction you needed."

He turned away, already picturing the roof of his flat. "You need to leave us the fuck alone. Trust me, we're better off without you." He started to turn, preparing to Apparate, but there was the sound of fast, light footsteps coming towards him. Draco tensed, losing the image of his roof as he felt a hand grabbing at his arm.

"I'll believe that when you stop acting like such a _victim_," Hermione said, her voice cracking.

Draco looked around. He had a brief vision of her face, her cheeks were red, her eyes bright, before her hand was around the back of his neck and she was pulling him down to smash her lips against his. Draco drew away in surprise, gasping for breath, breathing her breath instead of air, hot on his face. "You-" he gasped, and saw Hermione's eyes again, so close, gazing so directly up into his, holding so much surprise of her own, and hope, need and, almost – terror, that he stopped trying to get away.

She had just kissed him. Her hand began to loosen its hold on his neck, that bottom lip was drawn in between Muggle-white teeth, there was a split second where Draco envisioned her eyes glancing away, at the door or clock as she realised what she had done, so he ducked quickly and kissed her back.

He would show her how much of a victim he was.


	26. Aftermath

**Aftermath**

"You've just told me how these meetings are just a nice little way to enjoy yourself, a little bit of escapism for you, out of an awful day in the life of being Hermione fucking perfect Granger."

Hermione felt like he had slapped her. All the frustration she held poised on the tip of her tongue, froze.

No no no no, not like that. Not escapism.

She hadn't been using him, had she? What they were doing had barely scraped the surface of anything emotionally investing: all flirty letters and silly, harmless conversations. She needed it and he enjoyed it. He kept coming back, didn't he?

She hadn't used him. She was not the type of person to use somebody else.

_Was she?_

"As long as I can provide the right level of banter of course," he drawled with a half-hearted sneer, the words lacking any of his previous bite. "Well, sorry I ruined it today, and wasn't the nice little distraction you needed."

Even as he turned away Hermione knew she did not have the will or ability channel her racing thoughts into a defence.

"You need to leave us the fuck alone, we're better off without you," Malfoy stated with bitterness.

He was about to leave, but he couldn't leave things like this. Things hurtling towards a result that she found she absolutely didn't want: distance, the end. Before it had even begun.

His back hunched, his raised shoulders: sudden defeat without her having said another word; total abandonment of the Draco Malfoy dirty fighting tactics before he had even got into his stride. Why wasn't he sneering anymore? What was wrong with him?

Later, Hermione would remember this moment and know the answer to the question that at the time she had been behaving far too irrationally to properly consider. It was accompanied by a memory of Harry, sitting in the garden, warning her to move slowly with Malfoy.

It would hit Hermione, far harder than when she had carelessly brought it up before their row, just what the impact was of her discounting his depression and of assuming he was a willing participate in their game. Come to think of it, she hadn't even assumed, as that implied a conscious decision: instead, she hadn't even thought that he might not be as up for a flirtation as she was. She wavered between believing herself self-centred over her negligence, and a self-defensive alarm at Draco's intensity and his inability to just treat things like a stupid, fun little game – despite how things turned out later.

What was wrong with him? Too much, probably. And she knew this, and knew that her own judgement was questionable, as evidenced by recent events at the school. The cost of being involved with Draco should have been greater than she would be prepared to pay – there had been a reason she had initiated this letter-writing-flirting routine in the first place, and Hermione knew that was why his accusation hit home so hard.

And yet, despite herself, here she was with the luxury of all the time in the world: caught in confused spirals of thought over Draco, unable to regret what she had done, what she hoped they would do.

However, in that moment in the Apparition Room, Hermione did not have the luxury of time, she had only a split second, and the only motivation she felt was a scrambling desperation to correct how badly she had pushed things awry, to convince Draco that he was mistaken about her intentions, to show him that he was worth so much more than what he seemed to expect.

"I'll believe that when you stop acting like such a victim." She grasped for his arm, dragged him back around, dragged him down, squeezed her eyes shut and kissed him.

But Draco wrenched his lips away immediately and she like she had lurched off a step she hadn't even realised was there. In that split second a crescendo of panic built as she hung in suspense, gazing into his eyes, feeling more and more as if the step was a cliff and instead of hanging, she was falling - knowing that she had spectacularly misfired and he would probably reject her because she had been such a bitch –before he swooped back down and kissed her back.

His lips crushed into hers, scorching, echoing the heat of his anger and her frustration so forcefully they punctured what little lingered of her doubt. Stubble grated her chin, their noses clashed and a sharp gasp of breath filled her with his smoky, earthy smell. Hermione's back arched as he pressed down and she brought her hands, shaking with the aftershock of their argument, up to his chest to push back.

Though she gripped on to his robes when it seemed Draco took the push as an instruction to break away.

"Please." She breathed the word out as Draco's lips left hers. Her eyes snapped open and for a moment they stood face to face, close enough to breath each other's panted air.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, but Draco shook his head minutely, closed his eyes, leant down and kissed her again.

And this time, in her heart, Hermione felt the shock of her action overtaken by a giddy, adrenaline-heightened elation: a thrill echoed in Draco's pulse under her hands splayed on his chest.

She was immersed in the feel of it, in the feel of him: the shape of his lips, chapped, full and tense against hers as they kissed again and again, the gentle graze of his tongue brushing along her lips, the moan that skirted the edge of his gasp as she opened her mouth. His tongue slid into her and her body sank into his arms, boneless against the stability of his body, so at odds with the softness of his mouth, hot and wet, and tasting deliciously of peppermint and cardamon.

Soon a dance began, their tempo accelerating as they found a rhythm, their hands frantic, desperate to feel and hold, scraping across their bodies, his hands on her waist, pulling her harder against him, dragging up her back to knot into her hair, the vertical muscles along his spine taut like two cords of rope beneath her palms, his thumbs stroking the skin behind her ears, so gently, the hardness she could feel sandwiched between them, a heart-thrilling contrast, impossible to ignore as it pressed into her stomach, drawing molten heat downwards-

The bell rang. A shrieking alarm.

Hermione jerked back. She collided with the wall. She brought a hand to her head, confused over how they had reached the side of the room and found her hair wild and escaped from its clip.

Draco was panting, his chest rising and falling, his lips deliciously red, his eyes unfocused as if he was drunk. Hermione smiled at him, her lips tingling as they stretched. Draco glanced at her mouth and Hermione brought her fingers up, finding wetness, his saliva. She licked it, tasting him. Draco watched her, eyelids dropping, the impression of intoxication increasing.

"Do you have any idea what that's doing to me?" he murmured, a hoarseness to his voice sending a frisson of pleasure leaping through Hermione. She tilted her face up to him and he bent down and kissed her again.

She knew they did not have time, and he knew it too. He kissed her gently, his lips were soft as they enveloped hers. They opened their mouths simultaneously, Hermione felt the heat of his breath –

The sound of footsteps slapping across floorboards reached them from the other room. Draco jolted and pulled away, the vibration of his groan on her tongue.

They stood for a moment in silence, watching each other, the school awakening around them, distant shouts, thuds, the scrapes of hundreds of chairs and hurried footsteps of children desperate to get home. Hermione shut her eyes, wishing they were somewhere else. That she was someone else.

Gentle fingers brushed across her forehead, stroking strands of hair from her face. She opened her eyes.

"Turn around," Draco smiled.

Hermione obeyed and felt him unfasten the clip and attempt to tease her hair back into obedience.

"Good luck," she said.

"Nonsense," he breathed, his fingers brushing up the nape of her neck, gathering her unruly curls.

Hermione's head sagged a little into his touch. "You're right about your toothpaste," she said without thinking on a deep exhale. His fingers paused. Hermione couldn't breath back in, as she fought not to roll her head back into his hands.

A shout in the Floo Room broke the spell. Draco quickly twisted her hair into something Hermione was apprehensive to label without a mirror and fastened the clip.

They resumed watching each other. Hermione realised Draco was waiting for her to speak. But she had no words. His kiss had driven them from her. Though a dribble of thoughts were beginning to return. He wanted to know what had just happened. But she what could she tell him? _It seemed to me at the time, via a clearly rational though process, to be the only way to get you to stay._

She glanced at the floor, noticing the normally scuffed black leather of Draco's shoes was polished, knowing she had to say something. They had just kissed. She had kissed him, a father of a student at her school, a man she thought she still wanted to employ as a teacher, a man who had too many issues to count, while she had a growing list of her own with a massive new one to add. She took a deep breath and –

"What are you doing this afternoon?" Draco said.

She let the breath out, relieved he had broken the silence. "Just work," she shrugged, catching his eye with a bad attempt at an easy smile.

Draco glanced at the door to the Floo Room again where the noise of the student exodus was growing louder. "Come out with us," he said, looking back at her.

Hermione's blinked. "What?"

"Come out with us," Draco repeated, and she could hear a slight strain to his voice that she didn't think she normally would have noticed. He stepped back, bringing a hand up to rake back his hair from where it had fallen over his forehead. The gesture looked odd on him. Like something he had borrowed off Harry.

Hermione shook her head and found her hands awkwardly bunching at the air. "I can't," she said, dropping them to her side. She had a meeting, marking, planning, liaising. She struggled for words, completely thrown, adrift without her usual wits, desperate to have them back. "I have too much on. I can't, I'm sorry."

"Scorp is going to be going mad tonight, cooped up in the flat, with the Quidditch trial tomorrow." Draco seemed determined to ignore her, his words coming fast. "You have no idea how much he wants to make the team. I was going to take him out anyway, distract him, tire him out so he won't still be up at midnight with nerves."

Hermione nodded, glancing at the clock for somewhere else to look. It was four minutes past four. She didn't know what to do with the knowledge. The silence between them grew louder than the ruckus next door. "It would be –" Draco said, sidestepping into her field of vision. Hermione blinked.

He attempted what he clearly hoped was a confident smile, but it was ruined by how far they both knew he was sticking his neck out. "I would like it if you came too." He shrugged, rubbed the back of his neck and the smile turned into a grimace.

"I can't. I - " But wasn't this what she wanted? For him to stand there and demand more for himself? She felt a sudden need to reassure him.

"We'll just go down the road," he said. "Nowhere special."

"Down the road?" Hermione shook her head. "Do you even know what's down the road?"

He grinned, opening his hands to the ceiling. "Muggles? Doing Muggle things? It'll be fun."

Hermione snorted and bit her lip. Draco's eyes flashed down to watch. Hermione felt her resolve weaken. "I don't have time, Malfoy," she said, but of course as had become automatic when that obstacle arouse, Time-Turning arrangements were already forming before she could stop them. Just an hour. She could get away with adding an hour. No one would know.

It would mean they could put off the inevitable conversation about what had happened. Despite their row, despite what Draco had revealed about himself, perhaps this did not need to end in something serious. And maybe Draco hoped for that too, Hermione thought as she watched his grin grow triumphant, almost as if he could tell which way her decision was heading. Perhaps he was having the very same thoughts as her.

He leant an elbow against the mantle of the fireplace. "Aren't you supposed to be the Headmistress?" he drawled. "What's the point of it all when you can't just slope off whenever you want?" He glanced down at his hand, as if inspecting a non-existent hangnail, as if bored by the conversation.

Hermione rolled her eyes but a bubble of excitement was working its way her chest and she had to suppress a smile. Draco still wanted to have fun. They could still make stupid comments and jokes and everything didn't need to become serious and heartfelt. She was so relieved she felt suddenly skittish: that despite the depths his mood had just swung, he could still be like this.

She could go out with him into Muggle London, not because she felt she had to prove something to either of them, but because actually, in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to hear more comments like that, to see more bored, lazy smiles like the one presently lighting up his face. To feel Malfoy's hands and lips on her sooner than - when? Tomorrow if she hadn't totally screwed things up and he was still up for continuing their routine...

"And you'll have to call me Draco when you're with Scorp. He'll find it strange otherwise."

"Won't he find it strange if I'm there regardless?"

Draco's smile faltered. But before he could speak there was a loud thud and the door swung open, the knob hitting the wall with a bang. Hermione jumped, although a quick glance down at herself revealed no evidence of impropriety.

Scorpius Malfoy stood on the threshold, glaring at his father. But after a sweep of his full profile, it was only the lingering flush to Draco's lips and cheeks that looked out of the ordinary. Hopefully nothing a child would notice. Hermione licked her lips, but his taste was gone.

"Scorpius, do not throw doors open." Draco said. "You'll damage the plaster."

The boy jutted his chin out. "So? Can't you just Reparo it?"

Hermione stepped forward, realising it was probably within her jurisdiction to tell him off, but Draco drew himself up and she shut her mouth. He did not say anything, and she did not notice any change in his profile, but after a moment and quick glare in her direction, Scorpius let out a murmured apology and stomped over, holding his hand out for the Side-Along Disapparition.

But instead of taking it, Draco turned him around by the shoulders and pulled his bag off.

"Give me your robe," he demanded.

"What? What are you doing?" Scorp said.

"Come on, quickly. Robe off."

Grumbling loudly, Scorp shrugged off his robe and handed it to his father.

"We're not going home. I am, I need to drop these off and pick something up, but you're not."

Scorp's face was a picture of confusion. "What?"

Draco glanced at Hermione. "We're going out. You're going with Miss Granger to wait at the Muggle Entrance and I'm going to meet you there."

Hermione held Draco's gaze for several long seconds before she gave him a tiny nod. Draco's victorious smile was so wide it seared itself into her memory as he Disapparated.

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A/N: Thank you again to Delancey654 for beta reading. I'm sorry about the wait, it was very bad timing within the story! The next chapter will be online very soon.

I have a new tumblr, Charlotte-bird if anyone wants to be my friend! I'm avoiding the site somewhat at the moment as I'm mortally afraid of Cursed Child spoilers, but will be back on shortly. The blog has a shifting purpose; I post stuff about fanfiction, personal word vomit, the dodgy HP artwork I made when I was working through my writer's block, (which since I started writing again, I've stopped making; apparently I can only do one or the other,) and real life artwork which really belongs on its own tumblr. Sound like your cup of tea? ;) Follow me!


	27. A Game of Skill

**A/N:** Someone on tumblr asked a dramione blog if this was abandoned. My answer is: NEVER. I'm a Huffleclaw. Don't think I can leave anything I've committed to half finished. Ask me directly next time, charlotte-bird on tumblr. Thanks again to Delancey654 for beta reading!

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Draco whipped up and down the knife edge of the pavement, sidestepping Muggles, his entire attention fixed on the gates to the school. Any second now, Hermione would come through those gates with Scorp.

Or she wouldn't.

He spun on his heels, took a step and held himself still, suddenly aware how it would look if she caught him pacing. Too keen, but more than that, too intense. He had a flash of their argument, the weaknesses he revealed smashed through his mind, his loss of his temper, his sensitivity, all replayed in hindsight even more shameful, devastating - a _victim_ -

But - she had kissed him. Caught by the feel of her lips, he leant back against a lamppost and relived it, forgetting their row. With the traffic rumbling and hissing behind him, Draco's fingers twitched with the memory of her skin. He smiled. She would come.

All of his questions and doubts over her feelings had an answer. He had not been going mad, inventing ridiculous scenarios where she fancied him. Here was his proof. Perhaps not proof of her overall intentions, but he had the patience to work on getting that. And if all she thought she wanted was a distraction from work - well, he could work to change that, too.

Draco caught up with his thoughts and held them down, as was his habit when he felt himself getting carried away. These were the same thoughts that he had fought with earlier: that he had things to offer and that Hermione wanted what was on offer. That he had the power to act and make decisions and get what he wanted. And why shouldn't he?

She had kissed him. Draco could have laughed. He let that thought soak through his fingers and into his skin.

Draco looked at the Muggles who rushed along the pavement towards the Tube station down the road. Each with their own tiny blue glowing world contained in their palm, index fingers tapping and swiping, none sparing a glance at the sky. The sun had broken through the clouds, its reflection blinding on the wet pavement, its thin September heat warming Draco's face and seeping through his jumper to his skin as anticipation and giddy euphoria leapt in his chest with such excitement he felt like a brand new person.

Gilded in sunshine, in this sudden confidence of who he was, he felt closer to the Muggles than he ever had before. He wondered who they were, what they did all day, who they were going home to. He saw the birth of a man's private smile as he glanced at his phone and he wondered what it said. Families muddled past, worn-out mums with impossibly electric kids, so like Scorpius in their wrinkled afternoon school uniforms, the dizzying flash of a woman's expression from laughter to outrage and then back again as she listened to the phone clutched to her ear.

She glanced up to meet Draco's eyes as she passed. As she returned his smile, he realised he needed to calm down, or at least appear to.

Moments later, Scorpius slunk through the gates, anxious eyes searching for his father. Draco called out, sprung forward off the lamppost and walked over. The very moment their eyes met, a devastating scowl burgeoned on his son's face. He was obviously trying very hard to let Draco to know that he was furious with how his afternoon was unfolding. In that moment, Draco couldn't have loved him any harder.

"Put this on, Scorpius," Draco said, holding out his Muggle jacket, abandoning his mission to not appear mad. His son forcefully rejected his resultant smile with an even deeper frown.

"A coat? Do I have to?" Scorp sneered. "It's not even raining any more."

Hermione appeared at the gate and Draco's chest exploded. He grinned down at Scorp, who thrust out his bottom lip. "Stop complaining and just put it on," he told him.

Scorpius huffed and snatched the coat from Draco's hands. Draco let it slip, glanced up, catching Hermione's eye. She gave him a strange, unsure smile, she looked at the floor, back up at him, she -

Nearly collided with a large woman on a mission with a baby in a pushchair.

Draco lurched forward, though of course Hermione was fine, grinning in an embarrassed sort of way, her hands up, apologising profusely to the Muggle. She shook her head at Draco, rolling her eyes at herself, stepped from the building's shadow and into the sun and - lit up. And Draco wasn't being poetic. She actually lit up. Her plain, non-descript red cardigan suddenly seemed to be buzzing, absorbing the light in such a way that it glowed with the matte vibrancy of a geranium.

Hermione laughed at his expression, but her hands pulled nervously at her sleeves. He guessed he looked offended, as he should be; the charmed fabric was an outrageous choice. But he wasn't at all. It suited her, the spreading embarrassed flush on her neck and cheeks bathed scarlet by its glow and the messy pile of curls he'd made, still in place despite the odds, auburn in its scarlet reflection.

Draco pulled a cork-stoppered potion bottle from his pocket and presented it to Hermione as she reached him.

Her fingers brushed his as she plucked it from his hand and she held it up to the light, the green shadow of the glass flitting across her frown like a darting fish as she turned it back and forth. "What's this for?"

This was it. The first moment. She had come and he could be whoever he wanted. "Something to enhance spatial awareness," he drawled.

Hermione dropped it to her side and gave him a scathing look. He tried not to laugh and said, "Headache potion. Though I think I need it after at that." He wrinkled his nose, nodding at her cardigan.

"I knew you'd like it. Gryffindor red, obviously," she said, mildly. "Thank you." She touched the back of his hand. "You remembered."

"My pleasure -" he paused, running his tongue over the back of his teeth, daring himself. He felt limitless. He leant in and murmured to her ear, "-Headmistress."

Hermione was biting her lip as he pulled away, her eyes narrowed. "_Headmistress_?" she whispered, prying the stopper off.

Draco shrugged. "That is your title, isn't it?"

She gave him a sort of unattractive, snorting laugh and tipped her head back, the potion bottle at her lips. The sunshine hit her throat and Draco noticed a small mole beneath her jawbone. He had a sudden desire to touch it, to stroke his finger beneath her jaw from ear to ear. To feel her throat bob up and down beneath his lips right there in the street.

"Where are we going?" Scorp interrupted, in his whiniest voice, attaching himself to Draco's arm, yanking him down and back to reality.

Draco wrenched his eyes from Hermione. "This way," he announced, dragging Scorpius around and striding purposefully with the flow of commuter traffic heading north.

"What's _this way_?" Scorp asked.

"Plenty of things." He received another glare from Scorp that he ignored.

Hermione fell into step on Draco's other side, dabbing at her lips with the back of her fingers. "Do you have any idea where we're going, Malfoy?" she murmured.

He didn't. He had absolutely no idea. But what did it matter? She had come and the Muggles would provide. They usually did. "Of course I do. Do you think I'd endanger my son by dragging him off into the uncharted depths of Muggle London?"

Hermione snorted again.

They walked on, Draco longing to speak to her, but with Scorp as a witness he couldn't find the words. So he settled for nothing and tried to ignore the way it chafed against the balloon of energy pressed against the sides of his chest, desperate for release.

Thankfully, capricious as ever, Scorpius seemed to get over his mood and began to drip into the silence rumours he had heard about the school's current Quidditch stars. Draco was nodding and humming along, not listening, praying Hermione wasn't thinking about their row, trying not to let her catch him slanting looks at her every now and again. She looked fidgety, nervous.

They soon reached the large traffic junction that Draco remembered from when he brought Scorp to the open day. Draco looked around, spotting the Tube station and grimacing as he recalled the last time he had taken it. He caught sight of Hermione restlessly shifting to and fro on her feet out of the corner of his eye and the balloon in his chest was suddenly unpleasant, blown up too hard and ready to burst and lacerate this throat at any moment.

Draco's search for a destination became urgent. He stiffly led them past fried chicken shops and betting shops and over a rising walkway with dwindling confidence and a growing sense this had been a mistake. Beneath them was some sort of pathetic outdoor market, a ragtag collection of tents and fabrics hung over poles and from under which Muggles were selling plastic tat and bruised fruit. The pungent smell of fried fat hung in the air. Not food, just _fat_. Draco's lip curled. He caught Hermione watching him, but before he could school his expression she broke out into a wide grin.

"Are you okay, Draco?" She whispered. "If your nose gets any higher you might crick your neck. And I won't be able to heal it this time. For some reason we seem to be in Muggle London." She winced. "No magic you see."

She was finding this funny! She had stopped looking like she was running through a mental list of why leaving the school with him was a bad idea. _Relief_ poured over Draco.

"How long had you been thinking up that one, Granger?" he asked mildly. "Since we left school? Is that why you've been watching me? Waiting for me to slip up?" He leant in towards her. "Well, Headmistress, I've lived in Muggle London for two years now. I know that a little aerial browse over a street market isn't going to do me much damage."

"Dad! They've got bowling! Look! _Look_! Jake went the other day, can we go, please? _Please_?" Draco looked down to see Scorp pointing to a fluorescent sign that read Superbowl in one of the windows of a squat, dirty concrete building across the road. Two red elephants bearing miniature castles on their backs stood sentry on the roof, above large, rusty metal letters that spelled Shopping Centre. An exhausted tent-like awning decorated with pigeon shit and green mold sheltered the entrance.

_Thank fuck_. Draco could have kissed his son. With a bland, insincere smile, he turned back to Hermione. "Only if Headmistress Granger wants to."

"Headmistress Granger would love to go bowling," she said to Draco, and the smile she shot back at him was so hard and sweet, not even Scorp's much-heralded toothpaste would have helped the decay of her teeth. Draco was alarmed.

And he soon found out why. The Superbowl involved everything Muggle he abhorred, combined. Two years had not been enough time to introduce him to this particular Muggle environment; not that he wanted to reveal that willingly to Hermione, but she seemed to have guessed anyway. It was like their moods were inverting. The more uncomfortable Draco became, the happier she seemed. She was obviously a sadist with an inhumane threashold for Muggle tat. This was a world of constant beeping and flashing lights, neon games pumping out electronic heat that stuck his hair to his forehead and his shirt to his back within minutes, décor that was as tacky as the stained, lurid carpets, terrible Muggle music - of the type Potter seemed partial to, a queue of Muggles waiting for a single man on a desk with a broken computer to pay; and after Draco waited with them and paid, Hermione led him over to a desk lined with ugly two-toned shoes and told him he needed to swap his own in for a pair.

"At least you've remembered your socks this time," she had whispered, having the grace to look at least a little guilty at taking such a low blow.

_At least I could finally buy some new ones_, he had not answered, his smile acidic, longing to wipe the sweat off his upper lip, holding a vibrating Scorpius away from the arcade, shrieking with a bloodthirsty delight at the shooting games.

A few minutes later Draco found himself steered to a ball rack and forced into selecting a ball. He felt as if he were in some bizarre ritual that everyone except for him knew the rules for. Even Scorpius seemed to know what to do, which was impossible but totally expected given his track record with unfamiliar Muggle activities. Draco watched him examining the balls fondly. It was like going back in time to immediately after his release. Traversing the supermarket while pushing a trolley with a spinning wheel and a boy in tow, shy, sulky, a stranger but so familiar, so little but so grown-up, jumping each time the tannoy sounded, each time his _son_ tugged a little on his sleeve, pointing to something they needed, able to decipher the rows upon rows of plastic packets in a way that Draco just couldn't.

But now the little boy was not so little, and was nodding at him encouragingly, moaning, laughing at him to, "hurry up and _choose_," and giving Draco his usual refrain of: "stop _looking_ at me like that, Father." Scorp's frustration got the better of him, he clasped Draco's hand and guided it towards a ball decorated with ugly green marbled plastic and a big number ten. Draco dutifully slid his fingers and thumb into the holes, where millions of greasy Muggle fingers had been before him. He tried to keep his shudder inside. A controlled, underground explosion.

"That's it. How does it feel?" Hermione asked from behind him, kindly, as if she had detected his battle but been too kind this time to poke fun. Weakness. He would remember that.

He hoisted it out of the rack. "Heavy enough to destroy someone's flying career. How should it feel?" He turned to face her, bouncing it slightly in his other hand.

Hermione hummed a little in thought. "About half as heavy as a Bludger I think."

"It's a bit light in that case," he fibbed.

"Try the next number up then."

This one did feel a bit too heavy. Draco had a premonition of an aching arm in the morning. "Yeah, this one's good."

They looked at each other for a moment. Hermione grinned, awkwardly, "I'm just going to pop to the loo," she said, and reached up to her hair. "Someone thought they had what it takes to fix this. I have to - er - undo the damage."

"Whoever it was, I'm impressed with his ambition," Draco smirked. "I hadn't seen it in such a mess since school."

Hermione looked startled - for a split second Draco panicked that he had gone too far - but then she laughed. She started to reply but glanced down behind Draco and stopped abruptly. Draco followed her gaze, turning to see Scorpius look quickly away. He desperately hoped his son had not been pulling some offensive expression just as she had started to relax.

"Right. Well, loo. Then bowling." Hermione clapped her hands, looking flustered and walked away, skirting ball racks and excited little Muggles, back straight, lithe and hips weaving. Moments ago that waist had been between his hands. Draco gripped the bowling ball hard.

After a second watching her, Draco wearily turned towards his son, waiting for the confrontation. Scorpius was studying the computer before their lane with abject concentration. Draco sighed, plucking his shirt off his lower back and fanning it against his skin.

The sound seemed to give Scorp permission to speak. "What's she _doing_ with us?" he spat, glaring at the screen.

_And the clouds have finally broken._

"Which ball are you using?" Draco asked.

Scorp jerked his head up and shot Draco a glare that could kill. "I'm not an oblivious retard you know."

"Do not speak to me like that. Which ball?"

"Stop ignoring me!"

"I'm not ignoring you. Which ball, Scorpius?"

Scorp reached with his foot over to the rack and kicked sloppily at a pink number six, nearly falling off his stool in the process. Draco pretended not to notice. Instead, he bent over the ball, drew his wand from his sleeve so only the tip poked out and cast a cleaning charm. He then did the same for Hermione's and his own. He eyed the cracked faux leather of the bench for a moment before sitting down and facing Scorp.

"Shoes," he demanded.

"Father. Stop being so _prejudiced_."

"Scorpius, this is not about Muggles, this is about _people's_ dirty feet. Shoes off, _now_."

Scorpius glared at the floor, muttering words that sounded a lot like, _fucking_ _Muggles_.

"What did you say?" Draco said, sharply. "I've warned you, you will not swear-"

"I said," Scorp interrupted, shrilly, "that I didn't even think you were being prejudiced about Muggles! I know you're not like that anymore!" He kicked his shoes off into Draco's shins. "I just thought you were being a big snob!"

Draco gazed at the shoes, lost for a moment, unsure if Scorp was lying out of spite or telling the truth. Regardless, Draco would not have gotten away with far less at eleven, never mind the kicking. "Headmistress Granger is here because she's my friend," he enunciated, slowly.

"Girlfri-"

"Scorpius!" Draco raised his voice before he could stop it, looking wildly over Scorpius's head as if Hermione had made it back from the lavatory without him noticing. He took a deep breath. "Friend," he corrected, under control once more.

This time Scorp had the sense not to argue. "But she was _my_ headmistress _first_."

"That's not true. I've known her for a lot longer than a week."

"Yeah, but you weren't _friends_. You were rude to her in the holidays. And Al told me you hated her at school."

Draco pursed his lips. "Well she's my friend now. Scorpius, for Merlin's sake, be _polite_. She's your headmistress apart from anything else, don't tell me you've forgotten?" Scorpius opened his mouth, as if to argue the very good point that: Headmistresses don't go bowling with their students, so Draco quickly added, "Don't you remember how embarrassed you were because of me after your interview? I'm going to say this once and not again, you will behave. You're the one being incredibly rude. Think about how that felt when it was me. Now I'm having to endure it."

Scorp let out a put-upon sigh and kicked off the floor to spin his seat. "Fine," he said, rolling his eyes again. The chair ground to a halt. Scorpius looked up at Draco through his lashes. "_Fine_," he repeated. And then when Draco still did not react he pouted a little and made to spin the chair, but at the last moment seemed to think better of it.

Draco allowed the silence to stretch, even enhancing it, as his father had often done with him. It had always seemed like a spell to Draco as a child, who had found the cold anger in his father's eyes impossible to meet. But now Draco knew all it took was height and direct eye contact to weed out and spotlight the guilt. Unfailingly it would rise to the surface, flailing like a worm after heavy rainfall.

"Sorry," Scorpius whispered, finally contrite, lips puckered, hands a fidgeting bundle, eyes failing to hold Draco's gaze, but heartily trying none the less, looking just like his mother. Draco's composure cracked as guilt of his own pushed up and flailed. Shit. He was a shit dad. What was he doing? This was meant to be their night. Of course Scorp was upset. He had every right to be.

"Now. Do you want me to clean these?" Draco asked, picking up a shoe and swinging it like a pendulum, his finger in the heel.

Scorp shook his head and looked away.

"Really?"

"No," he grunted.

"So you're telling me, this shoe," Draco waved the shoe a bit, "after having the pleasure of cradling thousands of sweaty toes, not all of which would have been wrapped in socks, and been given only a cursory spritz of the blue soap every now and then, is clean enough for the great Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy?"

Scorp's lips twitched. "Maybe."

"Even though, as wizards, we have this great thing at our disposal - magic - which we can use to vanish away all of those millions of crawling, creeping germs the soap missed, bugs that will nestle their way in beneath your toenails, nibbling your skin, laying their eggs-"

"Dad!" He held his hands over his face, and groaned. "Shut up!"

"Well, if you say it's clean enough, and I'm not allowed to use magic, I guess I'll just have to quality check this the old fashioned way." Draco clasped the toe of the shoe between his index finger and thumb, sticking his pinky out, trying to look as elegant and ridiculous as possible, as if he were at a wine tasting. He brought it slowly to his face, glanced at Scorp to see him watching through his fingers. "Only the best for the Malfoy heir," he intoned and shutting his eyes, buried his face into the sole. He gave a deep, sinus rasping sniff.

"Dad!"

Vinegar, Stilton and cleaning chemicals filled his nose. He thought about kissing Hermione. He imagined his nose pressed against a grimy coating of old sweat and dead skin. He tried to think about fucking Hermione. Smelly little unwashed boys, verrucas, crusty, piss flecked socks. A huge shudder threatened to rip up his spine. _Just make him laugh again._ Draco breathed out hard, and sniffed again, filling his lungs.

"Father! Stop it, you're being so _embarrassing_! People are looking!"

Draco held out his other hand, sticking his finger up in the air. "Give me a moment, Scorp," he said, voice muffled. "I'm still not totally sure you're right."

He sniffed again and suddenly Scorpius was dragging the shoe away from his face, his words broken by laughter. "Stop it! Just stop! Clean the shoe!"

Draco pretended to pull it back, scowling. "But I hadn't finished, Scorpius! One more sniff and I'll know!"

"Magic it! Magic the germs away, please!"

Draco suddenly let go of the shoe and Scorpius fell backwards, but Draco whipped out his arms and caught him, twisted him round, and pulled him into his lap. He pushed his face into Scorp's neck and rubbed his nose into his skin, blowing raspberries into his shoulder hard enough to make up for all the times he had not been able to do it.

Scorpius squealed and bucked tried to push his shoulder into Draco's face, but of course Draco was stronger and soon Scorp was gasping with laughter, too worn out to carry on complaining that he was _eleven_ and too _old_ to be treated like this.

When Scorp no longer had the strength to hold up his own head, Draco relented. He knew what he needed to do. Distractions only worked so far. Hermione would leave, if Scorp wanted her to. He would give him the option. Draco reached down, picked up the sweaty little shoe and presented it on the flat of his palm. "Shall I?"

Scorpius drew back a little and looked at him sideways, regaining his composure enough to throw one of Draco's own smirks back at him and said, "I don't think you need to, Father. Most of the germs got sucked up there." He rubbed the bridge of Draco's nose with his finger. "Ew! You're all sweaty!" Scorp snatched his finger away and giggled.

Draco hugged Scorpius tightly, rehearsing words of compromise, of apology, shaping them with his lips.

But then Scorpius's eyes focused on something behind Draco, his body stiffening. He darted a look back at his father and then away again, and Draco turned his head to see a waitress carrying a tray of drinks.

"Do you want me to get you a Coke?" Draco asked, the moment to be a responsible father slipping away, leaving him feeling both incredibly relieved and completely inept.

Scorpius's face split into a grin and he nodded frantically. He was Astoria completely. Draco knew he would do anything for him. The moment he complained again about Hermione, he would listen. At least for now, he would compensate with filling his son with as much sugar as he wanted.

* * *

"This is all very surreal, Malfoy."

"I was sure you would have left by now."

"Well, maybe I just saw something that convinced me to stay."

Draco looked at her. Hermione sniffed a few times, wrinkling her nose like a rat, tapping on the tip, her eyes alive.

"Dad! Dad! Are you watching?" Draco shook his head at her, mortified, and looked back towards the lane. Scorp was bouncing on his toes, pointing towards his ball heading straight for the centre of the pins.

Draco leant towards Hermione. "Do you enjoy taking the piss or something?" he muttered.

"Just with you."

Draco nodded. "I thought so. I must say, I'm honoured." Hermione snorted loudly through her nose and took a drink of her beer. "Has anyone ever told you you have a beautiful laugh?" He asked pleasantly, turning back to watch his son. "Scorpius! A spare!" He smiled as Hermione started choking. "Well done! Headmistress, you're up. Do try not to aim for the gutter this time?"

"Fuck you," Hermione whispered as she brushed past him.

* * *

Hermione had shed the red cardigan. Scorpius had shed most of his clothes too. Draco was desperate to nip to the lavatory to cast a cooling charm over himself, but it would mean missing those few seconds spent alone with Hermione while Scorp bowled. He wiped his forehead on his shoulder, blew his hair from his eyes and brought the ball to his face to line it up to the pins, swung it down past his knees, stepped forward once, twice, swung forward and released. A strike! He couldn't help but grin as he turned around to Scorpius's applause.

"It runs in our family you know, we just have a natural aptitude for sports." Scorpius was telling Hermione as Draco reached them.

"Oh, is that right?" She asked, sparing a glance up at Draco, eyebrow pointedly raised.

"Yeah, well, my dad was Seeker for Slytherin, you know."

"_Was_ he?"

"Come on you," Draco pulled Scorpius to his feet. "Half way through, still time to catch up to me."

"He's okay, isn't he?" Hermione said as Scorpius bounced away and Draco took a seat next to her.

"Yeah, he's fine."

"With me being here, I mean." She looked into the swirling dregs of her beer. "It's just earlier, I kind of thought maybe, well, he definitely wasn't."

"Well -"

"What am I doing here, Malfoy?" She glanced up at him.

"I asked you to come."

"_Why_?"

Draco rocked forward. "Merlin, Granger, because I knew giving you ample opportunity to laugh at how shit I am at Muggle living would cheer you up? Why do you think?"

"Malfoy, what are we _doing_? Why did you even - I was horrible earlier. I feel awful about it - hey! M-"

Draco had leant in and kissed her before he could think about it. A grunt of surprise died at the back of her throat, her lips opened with his, and her skin was so cool against his pulling away was painful. "That's why I asked you," he said gruffly. "Now stop feeling awful, the aim of this evening is to have fun. Both of you need to be distracted. We don't need to talk about it."

"Ugh! I only got _two_," Scorpius announced, stomping back to the rack and picking up a new ball.

"So much for natural aptitude," Draco called to his retreating back.

"So much for natural aptitude," he heard Scorp mimicking squeakily.

"We don't need to talk about what we said? Really?" Hermione said as Draco turned back to her, grinning as he imagined Scorp's face.

"No, we don't. We both went too far, I was -" _pathetic_ \- "an idiot. You were-"

"A bitch," she interjected.

"Hey, don't. It's over. Although -" he thought for a moment and began to frown. "Although - that's not to say - you know, that whole walking on eggshells thing-"

"Oh so we can talk about things, as long as they're on your terms can we?"

"Wait, please, just listen. I want - I need you to be able to say what you want to me."

"I do, Malfoy," she let out a short, bitter laugh. "And look how terribly it turned out today-"

"No, I want you to. That's one of the reasons why I like - well, I just need to grow the fuck up and deal with it. Merlin, Hermione, it's about time this - this bullshit with me - I want it to end."

She was smiling at him strangely.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh - oh, it's nothing. And by the way, I've been thinking how _well_ you're negotiating this place. I don't think I've ever seen anyone look more uncomfortable in my life. But - here you are." She tucked a loose curl behind her ear, picked up her glass and looked up at him through her lashes. "You don't think I'd be laughing if i thought the opposite, do you?"

"I-"

"Seven!" Scorpius announced, flinging himself down next to his father. "Respectable. Your turn, Headmistress Granger!"

* * *

"You're up, Scorp," Draco called, walking back to the bench.

"Wait a sec," Scorpius stood with his drink and started to gulp it down.

Draco realised with alarm that he was downing it. "Scorpius! That's your second Coke! You're not having another one." Draco held his son's gaze over the rim until it was lowered.

The glass was almost empty. Scorp slammed it down on the table and gave them an enormous burp. "Oops!" He clapped his hands to his mouth.

Draco shut his eyes for a moment, half in mock despair, half in very real. "Headmistress Granger," he said, turning to Hermione. "I'm so sorry, I don't know who this boy is, he certainly isn't a Malfoy."

"Father! You're so cruel!" Scorpius exclaimed, attempting to shove into Draco's stomach with his shoulder as he passed.

"You really have done an excellent job with him, Malfoy." Hermione was resting her arm along the back of the bench, one thigh crossed over the other, smirking up at him. "What a polite child."

He shook his head, grinning widely and sat down next to her. She kept her arm draped behind the back of his neck.

"Excellent manners," she murmured.

"Please don't."

Hermione looked away, smiling. She licked her lips, seeming suddenly nervous. She brought her fist to her mouth and coughed, "Silver cauldrons."

She glanced back, caught Draco's eye and they both burst out laughing. Draco felt so alive he could have picked her up and thrown her in the air. "Do you want to know a secret?"

"He isn't really yours?"

A huge, bark of a laugh erupted out of him. Hermione shook her head, grinning into her glass and took a sip of her drink. "Worse," he breathed. "Much worse. That would explain things, after all. The thing is -" he paused for dramatic effect, leant in closer and whispered, "I don't think Scorpius is a Slytherin."

"Ah hah! Finally, the real reason he's coming to my school. What then, a-" she glanced over to Scorpius, who was currently making a big deal out of weighing up the different balls. She looked back at Draco, eyebrows raised. "Ravenclaw?"

Draco snorted. "Don't be polite."

Hermione rested her hand on his arm and gave it a brief squeeze. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. That must be - tough."

"Well, he would have gone into Slytherin, of course. He can be incredibly convincing, secretive, manipulative."

"All good, solid Slytherin qualities."

"And he's worryingly good at lying, especially with that face. Have you noticed he looks just like Astoria?"

Hermione shook her head. "Draco, I'm sorry. I don't remember what she looked like."

"Oh. Well, like Scorpius." He smiled. "You would have gotten on."

Hermione smiled back. "I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to know her."

"Me too."

An easy silence settled between them. Draco sat back up straight.

Scorp returned seconds later to fetch a new ball. "Split," he told them, rolling his eyes.

"So -" Hermione inclined her head back towards Draco. "You've convinced me why he would make a good Slytherin, so why do you think-"

"Right, I was getting to that. I mean, those things pale in comparison to how impulsive he is, how he puts other's needs over his own - I mean, he just doesn't seem to care about his own safety at all, he's just - he's so kind."

"I'm sorry, Draco."

Draco was silent for a moment. Of course Hermione knew that 'other's needs,' were referring to Draco's own. But he didn't know why she was apologising for it. "For?"

She reached behind them to put down her glass on the table before laying both of her hands on her lap, looking suddenly serious. Draco waited in silence for her to find the words. "I'm sorry about what I said."

"We don't need to-"

"I know, I know - we don't need to talk about it, but, I need to apologise for this. Yeah, okay, you want to deal with things better, but I don't need to be so - well - I need to learn how to deal with stress better. I shouldn't have take it out on you. I didn't need to bring up yours and Scorp's - your stuff. I'm sorry."

Draco nodded. "Okay."

"And -" now her hands were fussing nervously at the hem of her cardigan, "I'll stop with the - with the letters and excuses. They were stupid, childish - you should just come -" she trailed off and shrugged and Draco realised how suddenly uncomfortable she was. "Well, we need to arrange, of course, but - oh for God's sake, Malfoy, can you just say something?"

Draco bit his lips to stop them from smiling. He cocked his head. "Well, I don't know, Headmistress. I quite enjoyed your letters. Why stop?"

Hermione did her best to keep her reaction to merely raising an eyebrow. But the way Draco could see her biting her cheeks ruined any impression of cool. Draco grinned at her at the very moment Scorp arranged himself on his shoulders, lolling his head down so his chin rested on Draco's chest.

"Ugh, the ball went straight through the middle. My arm is so tired! Bowling is so hard."

* * *

Draco had to perform the cooling charm. He couldn't take it any longer. But as Scorp passed him to the lane and left Hermione sitting alone, the whole bench open next to her, Draco was pulled back in. If hell turned out to exist, Draco knew it would take the form of the Elephant and Castle Shopping Centre Superbowl.

"Oh, for goodness sake, give me your hands," Hermione said.

"Okay," Draco said, nonplussed, quickly attempting to soak up the sweat on his palms by gripping the denim on his thighs. He sat down on her left, held out his right hand, and she rested it in her lap, his palm up.

"How are your hands freezing?" he said, trying to work out what she was doing. And they were so small next to his!

"Bad circulation. I can tell how hot you are," Hermione murmured, and began pushing up his sleeve. "This place is like a furnace. You should have done this a while ago."

Draco's entire body tensed.

Hermione reached over his lap, grabbed his left hand and tried to pull it towards her.

What are you doing?" Draco hissed, locking his arm in place.

"No eggshells, remember? Relax."

Draco breathed out, looked up, met her gaze and let her take his hand.

But he couldn't help but clasp her fingers as he saw the tip of the Dark Mark revealed. "Don't," he croaked.

"I know you're not hiding your Dark Mark from yourself or Scorp. You don't cover it up at home."

Draco drew in a sharp breath. "Fuck, you're blunt."

Her thumb stroked against the surface of the hair growing at his wrist. It sent a tingle crawling across his skin, right across the Mark and up his neck. "I think you almost just told me you liked me for that." She began to ease up the sleeve. Draco kept his eyes squarely on Hermione's. "You must be doing this for me," she whispered. "You don't need to."

"Strike!" Came Scorp's voice. "Did you see Father? I got seventy-five overall! That's not bad is it?"

Draco swallowed thickly and turned towards his son, his pulse racing, feeling as if they'd been caught doing something far more intimate than kissing.

"No! Not bad at all. Here, Scorp-" Draco stood abruptly and fumbled in his pocket for some money. "Do you want another Coke? A go on one of the shooting games?"

Scorpius's eyes bugged. "Really? Er, duh! I mean, yes, yes please!"

"Good, off you go." He handed Scorpius the change, looked at Hermione and grimaced. "I'm a terrible father, aren't I?"

Hermione shrugged. "That depends on your motivation."

Draco looked around. He looked at all of the families, the couples, the girls dancing, the men playing pool, all the laughter and disappointment and tears and all of the lives he had once claimed had less worth than a house-elf. It was such a long time ago. He pulled off his jumper, flung it to the seat and stared down at his bare arms, flexing his hands. He breathed out deeply. He looked back down at Hermione and held out his hand.

"Okay, Granger, it's your last go and enough is enough. I'm going to show you how to do this properly."

Hermione blinked up at him and smiled. She took his hand and let him pull her up.

"And you'll soon understand why I needed to send Scorpius away," he added with a wink.

Hermione snorted with laughter, shaking her head, letting him lead her to the lane. The Mark brushed against the back of her arm as he selected her a new, lighter ball. Draco froze, Hermione didn't. He could have kissed her for it, so he did, right there over the bowling balls.


End file.
